


Devilish Inheritance

by LittlePotterBrat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 142,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePotterBrat/pseuds/LittlePotterBrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harrys name comes out of the Goblet of Fire and an ugly Toad of a woman takes over the position of DADA Professor, Harry's life really gets hellish and that is without even taking into account that Voldemort has already returned and that a dark inheritance is only waiting to finally come into power. <br/>Suddenly his live is in mortal danger and the only one able to save him is his former enemy. Will Voldemort come to his rescue?</p>
<p>(Harry/Voldemort), Semi Dark Harry (Pre-Slash/ Prequel of Devilish Rebirth)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J. K. Rowling.

AN: I just want to warn you that Part one of this series has some parts from book 5. I have thought about rewriting them, but I think J.K.Rowling did a good job with describing Umbridge :-)

Devilish Inheritance

 

Warnings: Mentioning of incest, mentioning of m-preg.

AN: Hey everybody, the story is finally up again, now with a new name. For all who have read the first version I would advise to re-read at least the parts with Voldemort and the prologue, as well as chapter nine, where I have changed the most. I also added an epilogue.

Your LPB

 

“Parseltongue”

 

 

Prologue:

Voldemort flexed his fingers, examining the result of his new body. His skin was pail with a grayish tint and scaled, like the skin of a snake: He had hoped to avoid this side effect of the ritual, but it was a small price for being finally reborn. He turned to the huge mirror, hanging in his personal bed chamber and looked at his new appearance.  
A skull-like head, with gleaming, sanguine eyes and slitted nostrils looked back at him, a face every witch and every wizard would easily fear, even without knowing who he was. He couldn't say if his changed appearance was due to the ritual he had used, or due to his experiments with Horcruxes in the past years. It didn't matter regardless. All that mattered was that his body was still strong and his magic even stronger. He was still tall (about 6 feet 2), his shoulders were still broad and his abs still perfectly defined.

His left hand stretched out in an silent, none verbal spell and his fingers (formerly long, slim and elegant, but now spidery and bony) closed around his beloved Phoenix-Feather-Wand. 

Turning around again, he patted Nagini, his huge, black binding-basilisk, who laid exhausted on his bed. His followers would presumably assume, that he would call for their help in a dark magical ritual soon to resurrect himself, but as a true heir of Slytherin, he had known a more convenient method, one, which would not make him dependent on Wormtail, that grovelling, unworthy excuse of an human.  
Looking down on his mattress, he picked up the small egg, which still laid there. When he had asked Nagini to help him with his rebirth, she had been breeding and even though she had already named the small serpent in the egg, she had abandoned it to instead assist him.

Now his familia was mourning the loss of her daughter, who was doomed to die, because once abandoned, a basilisk could not adopt their children again. The only chance for Zaida was, to be adopted by a powerful wizard, who she could bind herself to. He himself would have taken on the little basilisk, but he was already bound to Nagini, thus it was impossible and truth to be told, he did not know anybody, who might be willing to adopt a basilisk, still, he put the egg in his pocket, he just could not ignore the anguish of his familiar, after all, his serpents were the only beings he hold dear and Nagini had not only stood by his side since his days in the orphanage, she had also just incubate him for three whole moon circles after he had locked his weak spirit into an unfertilized chickens egg.

“Rest now,” he told his snake and left the room for his throne room to call his followers.  
Riddle Manor was cold and his breath formed clouds in front of him, as he strode down the empty hallways. It did not bother him, otherwise, he could never have formed an alliance with the dementors during the last war, but as a Serpent Lord, he preferred a warmer surrounding.  
Thinking of dementors, he would have to send one of his death eaters to them, to renew their contract, he was sure, that the Ministry was not a good employer.

Opening the huge, nearly black double doors, he stepped into his throne room and took a deep breath. The beautiful scent of spilled blood was nearly gone, but it still lingered a bit and his throne was still there as well. Sitting down, he pressed his bony wand to his left fore arm, where where the dark mark resided by his followers and poured some magic into it, now he only had to wait, who would come.

His thoughts wandered to his plans for the wizarding world as he waited for his followers arive. Britain had already been weak during his last rise to power, but in his absents, no one had stopped the Ministry from weakening their country even further. Once, Great Britain had stood at the very top of all wizarding country, but Muggle-loving Ministers who possessed not the slightest bit of knowledge about the way magic influenced everything in their world, had slowly weakened their society.

Magic was more than a tool wizards and witches could use for their goals. Magic decided who someone was and who he or she would become. It had given him he royal powers of the Dark Lord and and thus the destiny of ruling over every other creature.  
But people like Fudge and the old fool Albus Dumbledore would never understand that a mere Halfblood would never be able to rule their world. Their circumstances of birth made it impossible. Many centuries ago, the people had known that only a wizard and a witch could create a powerful offspring. It was due to the simple fact that a baby drew on it's parents magic while growing in it's mothers womb, but when one parent was muggle, it could only inherit the magic of one parent, therefore it never grew as strong as it should have been able to.

Thus, Pureploods stood over Humanoid Creatures, Halfbloods and certainly Muggleborn and Muggles.  
Of course, not every Pureblood was as worthy as the other. Even within the elite there were black sheep, but they were still more worthy than those who's blood had been tainted by Muggles. In fact, the marriage with Muggles could weaken a wizarding family so much, that they resembled Muggles more than their own kind. Only sometimes would then appear a stronger offspring, known as a Muggleborn, but still disgracingly weak. Too weak to be handed the privilege to join their superior world.  
But he would return their world to it's old and rightful ways, giving Britain it's former glory back, but their world was so far gone in it's delusion that only force would be able to heal it again. Sure, in the old text it was not only a Dark Lord who ruled over their world, but also a Light Queen. The old tales described the Lord and the Queen as soul mates, as two sides of the same coin, unable to exist without the other, but as he did not believe in love and thus, not in soul mates, he would forgo this minute detail. And on a second notion, rulership of the light had been what had weakened Britain in the first place.

Of course, there was another matter he had to take care of before he could focus on their worlds future. Harry Potter was still alive and slowly growing into the bane of his existence. He would need to take care of the boy as soon as possible, before he could grow into an man and a real threat for him. His left hand twitched as he imagined finally killing that cursed boy and a sneer stretched over his lipless mouth.

The first silent pops sounded, announcing the arrival of his Death Eaters and concentrated on the matter at hand. He watched his masked followers appear in front of him and lining up in two half circles, an inner and an outer one, facing him. It were about sixty men. They kneeled down and greeted him with the usual: “My Lord,” but he ignored it and concentrated instead on the inner circle, where only his most trusted ones stood. 

There were far less, than he would wish, but the Lestranges were still in Azkaban, so was Dolohov, Rookwood, Mulciber and Travers, but the last two had never been members of his inner circles.

Finally he fixed his blood red eyes on all of them and said: “Welcome my friends. 13 years it has been and yet, here you stand before me, as so it were only yesterday. I confess I am... disappointed. Not one of me tried to find me.” 

During his speech, he felt anger rise in him, they had not betrayed him, but they had not searched for him either. He wanted to punish them, but even though he was ruthless, he had always known when it was the right time for punishment and when not, and today, he would have to be satisfied with scaring them a little. An evils smirk tuck on his lips, but he didn't let it show and in the next moment he stood in front of his inner circle, the men flinching at his sudden closeness and a wave of pleasure over the fear he saw in the eyes went down his spine.

“Yaxley,” he said, ripping the mask of the gray haired man in front of him from his face, his claw like fingernails ripping his skin. The man hissed, but otherwise didn't flinch again.

“Avery,” he hissed, repeating his action by the next one. “Crouch, Fenrir, Wormetail...” he looked down at the quivering mass of a wizard, who had cowardly hide in a warm wizarding house all those years, while he, Lord Voldemort had been forest to float around as an incorporeal spirit, not even strong enough to possess a human in the first eleven years.

He stepped over Pettigrew and faced the next man: “...Snape and not even you, Lucius.”  
The blond man fell to his knees. “My Lord, if I had detected any signs, a whisper of your whereabouts...” he started, but Voldemort didn't let him continue his speech, he never have had the patience for excuses, they were always all the same.  
“There were signs, my slippery friend and more than whispers,” he said calmly, knowing, that his followers had always feared him the most, when he was calm and collected in his fury.

“I assure you, my Lord...”  
“Quiet!” He hissed and Lucius instantly went silent. “Be it, as it may,” he continued his speech, returning to his throne and a wave of relieve washed through the room, prickling on his skin.  
“I will give you one last chance. My power is restored and we can now proceed our old goals. There is much to do and you, will have to earn your place amongst my ranks back.”  
He could see his followers flinch, as if struck with a powerful cutting hex at his words. They had apparently all thought, they could come back and continue where they had left, but he needed no right-hand man, who was loyal enough to stay true to the Dark Arts and come back to him, but also too lazy and comfortable in his good Ministry job to not search for him.

“My Lord, you surely mean not every post?” Lucius asked, his voice sounding very disbelieving.  
The believe, that his outstanding blood line would gain and ensure him everything, had always been Lucius biggest weakness. But he needed loyal and devoted followers in his inner circle. Power and Bloodpurity was not enough to be worthy of such an elaborate position.

“Lucius, tell me: Do you just dared to challenge an order from me?- Crucio!” He watched Lucius fall to his knees and twitch on the ground. The aristocrat still kneeled upright and no word left his lips, but his body portrait the pain he was in.

Voldemort watched the torture for a moment. He was no man, who prohibited questions generally, but once he had given a clear order, there was no room for doubts and questions for his Death Eaters, but they had apparently forgotten this little rule conveniently in the last years. He had always ruled with carrot and stick, so to speak and he would continue this way.

He ended the curse, Lucius stood back up on shaky legs. Sitting down in his throne again, he once more addressed the whole group in front of him.  
“Let us now continue, where we left fourteen years ago,” he said and an evil smirk stretched his lips.

 

1\. A horrible end of a perfect Summer

Harry awoke with a gasp and pressed his palm to his forehead, where his scar throbbed painfully. He had never actually seen Voldemort before, or even a picture of the man, unless you counted the ghost in the chamber of secrets, but the man he had seen in his dream just now, looked nothing like the teenagers from nearly sixty years ago.

Goose bumps formed on his skin, despite the hot weather and he shivered at the memory of the pale figure, but what had shocked him the most, had been the dark wizards face:

It had been like the mask of an monster; snake-like, with gleaming red eyes, grayish skin and only slits where the nose should have been. He had never seen something like it before and he hoped he would never have to again. There had been nothing left of the aristocratic beauty Voldemort had once possessed, back, when he had still been Tom Marvolo Riddle. A shiver ran down his spine as he tried to collect himself again.

 

He quickly pushed those thought to the side and concentrated back on the matter at hand, because, as frightening the sight had been, it was not the most frightening part of this vision.

Wormtail had been there, he had not thought he would see the rat so soon again, not after the man's flight at the end of last school year. This didn't help Sirius much, but at least they had now an idea, where the animagus was. Maybe, they could somehow lure him out... But this train of thought, as important as it was to him, was not the most important right now either. 

Over the last weeks of summer he have often had fuzzy dream and feelings, as if Voldemort was planning something, but this, had been more than a feeling or a fuzzy dream. Voldemort was back, and he was planning something. Harry had no idea what the snake-man was planning, but that Voldemort was planning something he had seen as soon as the wizard had sit down in his throne. Well, it didn't really came as a surprise, the Dark Lord was always planning something, mostly his death.

He rubbed his eyes, before looking around in the common room, where he had fallen asleep about two hours ago. With shaking hands he checked, if all his glamours were still in place, it wouldn't due for anyone, to find out his secrets. They were still in place, hiding the many scars and wrongly mended bones, he had received over the years in the Dursleys care and the fact, that he had neither grown, nor changed even the tiniest bit since his ninth or tenth birthday, he couldn't really say it. It probably was another side effect of his ill nourishment.

Sighing, he pushed the memories to the back of his mind, they were not important right now. Important was, that he was about to be too late for the welcoming feast and that he had to tell Dumbledore about the dream later.

He stood up and quickly made his way up to the boys bathroom to take a quick shower before the welcoming feast. He retrieved his toiletries from his trunk in the 4th year boys dorm, before entering the showers. It was nice to be alone in the shower for once, he didn't mind the other boys, but this had something special. To be able to take a long, hot shower, without anybody chattering in the background, or waiting that it was their term, or aunt petunia deciding that he had wasted enough of their water and turning the heater off.

After he had undressed, he stepped in front of the only full-body mirror and took his glamours off. Even though, his body underneath the charms was everything but a pleasant sight, he still liked to do that once in a while, because the glamours felt always so wrong, as if they forced him into being a being he didn't was.

He looked with fascination as his figure shrank until he stood only 4,6 feet over the ground. He was very undersized for his age, but for the age his body represented, he was average and some voice in the back of his head had always told him, that he didn't need to worry, that this small person was who he was and that it was good and right like this. 

His green eyes wandered over his refection. After years of starvation, he was awfully thin and clearly ill-nourished, but what would look like a dangerous illness on others, suited him for some reason very well. His ribs and hipbones were potruding and when he turned around, he could clearly see ever single bone of his spine. But despite his extreme slenderness, his cheeks were slightly round like it was typical for a child. They also had a nice pinkish tint and his green eyes were bright, oval-shaped and huge in his face, shadowed by long, very black lashes.

If only all the scars were gone. There were many smaller and bigger scars scattered all over his body, some were from Dudleys knives, some from Vernons belt. They marked his legs, arms and back with a tiger-pattern and ran criss-cross over his chest and belly. Many of them where smooth and pail against his skin, but some were bulging and from an angry red. 

On the left side of his torso, a rib was still peaking out unnaturally and there also was a peace of split bone stretching the skin of his right, upper arm. There were also nails missing on some fingers and toes, courtesy of aunt petunia, when she had cut her nails and noticed, that they had regrown within a day. 

But the most horrible scar was probably the one down his spine, engraving the word freak into his skin and the black letters forming the word bitch down the length of his cock. Dudley had given him this little gift the evening before he had returned to Hogwarts last year and even though ink normally could be washed off easily, ink pored into an open would couldn't.

Yes, despite his size, he could have been beautiful, if it weren't for all these scars.  
Averting his gaze, he stepped in one of the shower stalls and turned the hot water on and relaxed for a few minutes under the spray, before lathering his hair with his shampoo.  
Five minutes later he stepped out again, dried himself off, replaced the glamours and dressed again.

Going back downstairs, he smoothed out his robes and climbed out of the Gryffindor common room, thinking once again over the day, which had lead him to stay at Hogwarts during this summer.

All those years, he had believed, that Dumbledore knew, how his family live looked like, but the summer before his third year had been so bad, that he had taken his chances and had gone up to the headmaster, begging him to let him stay this year.

Flashback:

It was a week after Sirius rescue and one week before he would have to return to Privet Drive. Harry had tried his best to push his fear away and squash the nausea coiling in his stomach, but the memories where just too strong. 

Closing his eyes, a picture of himself, being held down by his cousin's friends flashed in front of his eyelids and Dudleys voice echoed in his head, as if the boy stood directly next to him:

“Pierce, do you think some woman would ever want him?”  
His cousin's best friend shook his head. “Never, Big D,” the boy grinned.  
Dudley grinned back and lid a cigarette, before slowly coming over and placing his heavy weight onto his tights, making it even harder for him to move.  
Fear was rising in his chest as he watched his cousin take a pull on his cigarette, smiling evilly.

“Let me go Dudley, this is going too far!” he protested weakly, but Dudley's grin only broadened.  
“I don't think so. Dad will love this, you know how he hates you, freak!” His cousin spat at him and even the turning of his head didn't help Harry to avoid the spittle. Nausea grew in him, like a wild beast, as he once again started to feel so dirty.

The last five weeks Dudley had beaten him up with his gang and they had been more brutal and ruthless than ever, not caring, if they actually broke a bone or not.  
But the worst always was, when his uncle and aunt went out in the evening and his cousin and his friends had hours to literally torture him. Dudley had gotten especially fond of one of his mothers kitchen knifes and the deep cuts it could cut into his flesh.

Neither uncle Vernon, nor aunt Petunia said anything, when they saw the stains of blood on his wooden floor, instead, uncle Vernon liked to take the opportunity to punish Harry further with his favourit belt for dirtying their floor, reopening the wounds and spilling even more blood everywhere.

By now many of those cuts had gotten infected and felt hot beneath his skin, but that all didn't matter right now, because the eager glimpse in Dudley's eyes promised a new pain. The boy only had this particular look, when he had come up with a new way to torture him.

Harry could do nothing as his cousin yanked his trousers down with a rough tuck, making it tear at the side of the waistband. 

“Than he will have no need for this,” his cousin had grinned, his eyes gleaming maniacly, as he pressed the cigarette onto his penis.  
Harry hadn't been able to do anything else than scream, as his sensitive flesh burned and the sickening stench of burned flash rose into the air.

He forced his eyes open again, his whole body was shaking and he tried to force the memory back once more, but as long as the prospect of returning to that place hung in front of him, it would be all in vain. During the school year, he had ben able to view his torture as a long passed event, but now it seemed all to current again. The pictures of his uncle's caning with his favourit belt, Dudley's beatings sick tortures with cigarettes and knives and the feeling of being starved for six entire weeks, just kept returning. How he had survived that last one, he still didn't know.

Taking a shaking breath, he made a decision and rose to his feet. His friends were down in the great hall for dinner, but he had not felt like eating, with his stomach constant churning, instead, he would use the time to go up to Dumbledores office and would ask the man to let him stay, he would even beg, if he had to.

Truth to be told, he didn't believe that his chance, of actually being allowed to stay at Hogwarts were low. Dumbledore was the most powerful and the wisest man he knew, there were simply no way, that he didn't knew about his torture at his relatives place, which meant, that the man had decided to just ignore his suffering. 

A pang went through Harrys heart at that thought. He had always like the grandfatherly wizard and the thought of having been betrayed like this, hurt nearly even more than the torture itself. Anger rose in his chest and he balled his hands into fists, he wanted to hurt someone, get some kind of revenge for what he had endured, but he knew, that Dumbledore was the wrong person, despite everything, the headmaster was after all the only person, who could give him an alternative for the summer and he would not throw that possibility away, before he had not even asked.

 

His steps were quick and silent, as he climbed up the staircase and went down the corridor, which lead to the headmasters office. To his surprise the gargoyle guarding the entrance jumped to the side as he approached and let him pass.

Hesitating only a moment, he stepped onto the staircase and climbed up. Dumbledores voice sounded even before he could knock and he entered.  
“Ah, my boy. I already wondered, if you would come and visit me before the summer, you look awfully pale these last days. Is everything alright?”

Collecting all his Gryffindor bravery Harry shook his head. He was not affraied of the conversation itself, he was afraid of the outcome. What, if he was right in his assumption and Dumbledore had known all along? How should he behave towards the leader of the light side than? He never would support Voldemort, but could he just continue to continue living like he had, these last three years, knowing, that he would have to work closely together with the man some day, to defeat the Dark Lord?

“Harry, you can trust me with everything,” Dumbledore said softly and the sparkle in his eyes had slightly dimmed.  
Swallowing again, Harry finally said: “I... I don't want to return to the Dursleys, please.” To his horror, he suddenly felt hot tears running down his cheeks and a sob left his throat as he finally broke down.

Dumbledore watched him with worry for a moment, before saying: “Please tell me everything.” 

Harrys trembling intensified. Telling Dumbledore everything? From where should he ever get the strength to tell him what had been done to him? He never would be able to repeat all the humiliation and torture.  
Shaking his head, he instead asked, his voice sounding weak and raspy: “Don't you already know?”

This time it was Dumbledore, who shook his head: “The wards on your relatives house do not hide it from every protection spell, they also make it impossible for wizards and witches to look inside, just in case a death eater would come by accidentally. So what ever happened to you in the Dursleys care, I have no possibility to know, unless you tell me.”

Harry blinked in disbelief, but than he saw the truth glistening in those blue eyes, which looked now dull and lifeless, but still, he couldn't. He just couldn't bring out the words.

“Harry, if you are mistreated, I need to know,” the headmaster repeated.  
Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry took a deep breath. Dumbledore was right, no one could help him, if he didn't say anything, but he couldn't say it. So what could he do?

Coming to an decision, he stood up on shaky legs and went to the middle of the office, where Dumbledore would have a good view of him, before taking off the outer layer of his glamours, only those, which his his scars, not the others, which his his age, or lack there off. He could not tell the headmaster, but he could show him. 

Turning his back towards Dumbledore, he slowly pulled of his shirt and he could hear a gasp from behind him, but he didn't stop. The scars on his back were awful, but there were more and Dumbledore would need to see all of them. When he was naked, he gave Dumbledore a moment to examine his body from behind, before turning back around.

Dumbledore gasped again and Harry could see tears gathering in the old mans eyes, for once, he looked every year his age. The headmaster could only bear the sight for a few seconds, before he closed his eyes in visible agony. Harry couldn't blame him for it, he knew, how awful he looked.

When Dumbledore opened his eyes again, they were fierce and blazing in unrestricted anger. “You will never return to those monsters.”

End of Flashback.

Harry only knew, that Dumbledore had contacted Amelia Bones, a prominent member of the wizengamont, after his visit. He had been sent to a thorough check up by Madame Pomfrey, who had been as shocked as Dumbledore by his appearance and done his best to remend all bones, which had once been broken, but sadly, there was not much someone could do about old scars, so he had to live with those.

Only three days later, Dumbledore had called him to his office and told him, that the guardianship had been transferred to himself and that he never would have to return to Privet Drive.

Harry had felt relieved beyond words and the nightmares and flashes of memories had finally stopped again and he had been able to finally enjoy the summer hollidays completely.  
Of course, it always had been nice, when he had stayed for a week or two with Ron's family, but this time, he have had eight weeks, were he had roamed the castle freely. He had flown every day and laid lazily in the grass near the black lake, enjoying the sun.

Most of the professors had stayed as well, but no one had said anything, when he had gone down to the kitchen past curfew and sometimes, he had joined in on the weakly chess duels between Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flittwick. Naturally, he had lost every single game against them, but it had been fun nonetheless.

Harry never would have imagined, that he would ever view the old headmaster as an father figure. A grandfather maybe, more likely as a mentor, but the eight weeks at Hogwarts had changed a lot and by law, he now was the mans son and heir, he even called him Albus now. He had not done that at first, but Dumbledore had told him, that he had not only adopted him, because there was no other person who could have done it, but also, because he truly meant it.

Sirius had been a bit grumpy at first. Not that the animagus didn't wish for him to finally have a good guardian, but because he had always wished to be that guardian himself. Sadly, Azkaban escapes just hadn't many rights. The sadness had disappeared within an hour, replaced by happiness over the fact, that Harry now had a proper father figure and no one could deny, that Dumbledore was the best guardian someone could wish for.

Dumbledore had also tried to convince the wizarding world, that Voldemort was once again on the move, but with only Harrys words as backing, he had not succeeded. The Ministry strictly refused the possibility of the Dark Lords return, claiming, that he had been defeated by him. The headmasters wise words, that defeated was not the same as dead, didn't help, but they hadn't expected anything else, it was just so much more comfortable for the Ministry to simply continue as usual.

Harry had finally reached the doors to the great hall and pulled his mind back to the present. As he peeked inside, he saw, that the students where already all seated, but the first years had not arrived yet, so he silently slipped inside and went over to the Gryffindor table. The other students were luckily too occupied with greeting their friends and exchange stories about their summer to notice his late arrival, only his two best friends, Ron and Hermione did.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, as soon, as she saw him. “How was your summer? You look so great!” She scooted to the side, so that he could sit down between her and Ron.  
His friends new about his stay in the castle and his adoption and he had, of course, written a letter every few days, but that wouldn't stop Hermione from asking again in persona.

With a wide grin he told them: “It was great! I flew every day, enjoined the sun and lost three games of chess every week.”  
That last statement made Ron look up in interest. “With whom has you played chess? Were they any good?”  
Hermione rolled his eyes. “Of course they were, when Harry lost every game.”  
“Harry is no good player, so that means nothing,” Ron winked and Harry had to snicker, the red head was right after all.

“Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick play every week,” he explained.  
“No wonder you lost, these three have to be good,” Hermione mused.

They stopped their conversation, when McGonagall stepped forwards, placed the sorting hat onto a stool, instructed the first years to line up in front of it and the heat began to sing:

In times of old when I was new  
And Hogwarts barely started  
The founder's of our noble school  
Thought never to be parted:  
United by a common goal,  
They had the selfsame yearning  
To make the worlds best magic school  
And pass along their learning. 

"Together we will build and teach!"  
The four good friends decided  
And never did they dream that they  
Might some day be divided  
For where there such friends anywhere  
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
Unless it was the second pair  
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?  
So how could it have gone so wrong?  
How could such friendships fail?  
Why, I was there and so can tell  
The whole sad, sorry tale 

Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those  
Whoses ancestry is purest."  
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach just those whose  
Intelligence is surest."  
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those  
With brave deeds to their name."  
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,  
And treat them just the same." 

These differences caused little strife  
When they first came to light,  
For each of the four founders had  
A house in which they might  
Take only those they wanted, so,  
For instance, Slytherin  
Took only pure blood-wizards 

Of great cunning, just like him,  
And only those of sharpest mind  
Were taught by Ravenclaw  
While the bravest and the boldest  
Went to daring Gryffindor.  
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,  
And taught them all she knew, 

Thus the houses and their founders  
Retained friendships firm and true.  
So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
For several happy years,  
But then discord crept among us  
Feeding on our faults and fears.  
The houses that, like pillars four,  
Had once held up our school,  
Now turned upon each other and,  
Divided, sought to rule. 

And for a while it seemed the school  
Must meet and early end,  
What with duelling and with fighting  
And the clash of friend on friend  
And at last there came a morning  
When old Syltherin departed  
And though the fighting then died out  
He left us quite downhearted. 

And never since the founders four  
Were whittled down to three  
Have the houses been united  
As they were once meant to be.  
And now the Sorting Hat is here  
And you all know the score:  
I sort you into houses  
Because that is what I'm for. 

But this year I'll go further  
Listen closely to my song:  
Though condemmed I am to split you  
Still I worry that it's wrong.  
Though I must fulfil my duty  
And must quarter every year  
Still I wonder whether sorting  
May not bring the end I fear  
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
The warning history shows,  
For our Hogwarts is in danger  
From external, deadly foes  
And we must unite inside her  
Or we'll crumble from within 

But shall it all bring no good,  
if all wizards do not unite...  
So I warned you, students and folks,  
Now let the sorting begin!

 

Harry threw his friends a worried look, this only seemed to affirm his suspicion, that Voldemort was once again up to something and he could see the same worry in Ron and Hermione's faces.  
The sorting started and their mood dropped even further, when Slytherin got almost the double amount of new students, than every other house and the memory of his earlier dream once again returned to his mind. Hopefully, it really only had been a dream.

“Somehow,” Hermione whispered int his ear “I get a bad feeling about this year.”  
“Me, too,” he agreed, equally silently, worry wrinkling his forehead.  
“Something really bad must be going on, when so many first years go to Slytherin,” Ron mused darkly.  
Thinking for a moment over it, Harry said: “It is almost, as if something is driving them there.”  
“It is...” Hermione started, but in that moment Dumbledore rose and greeted them all with a warm smile: “To our newcomers- welcome” To our old hands- welcome back. There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!”

Harry watched Ron grin, as the golden plates appeared in front of them, all worries about the many new Slytherins vanished from the red heads mind. Smiling, Harry shook his head, this was so typically Ron. He started eating as well, but noticed, that in contrast to Ron, the rest of the table seemed somewhat subdued  
.  
“Did the sorting head ever gave a warning before?” Hermione suddenly asked in an hushed voice, so that they would not be overheard.  
Harry shrugged, he didn't know.  
“I can't say either. My brothers never told me about a warning,” Ron said, his mouth full of food, but he, too, looked anxious now where the topic had been brought back to his mind.

Harry sighed, his friends were already so worried and he hadn't even told them about his dream yet. Looking around and lowering his voice even further, he decided to tell them now: “I had an odd dream this afternoon, just before you came.”  
Hermione, too, looked worriedly around, before pulling out her want and raising a silencing barrier, so that they could talk more freely.  
“What kind of dream?” Ron asked as soon as no one could disturb them anymore, but he didn't truly look, as if he wanted to know.

“About Voldemort,” Harry told them. His friends flinched and he rolled his eyes, really, the fear of an name was stupid and time consuming on occasions like these.  
“He sat on some kind of scary throne... than he pressed his wand to his forearm and many robed figures appeared. I think it were fifty, or even more, but he only spoke to a few of them.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Hermione commented and he nodded.  
“I think he was fairly angry at them, for not searching for him.”  
Ron paled: “Did he torture them?”  
Shaking his head, Harry said: “No, he told them, that he would give them one last chance and that they had much to do.”  
“Could you see, who were there? Maybe dad could keep an eye on them,” Ron asked.

Harry took another bite from his roasted beef, while trying to remember the names. He had not grown up in the wizarding world, so names of prominent death eaters were new to him, but he thought, that he could luckily remember all. The dream had bean so vivid, it literally had burned into his mind. Swallowing his bite, he finally said: “One he called Avery, another Fenrir...”

Ron flinched. Harry gave him a questioning look and his friend explained: “He is a werewolf, one, who loves to bite little children. Dad once mentioned, that he was the one who bit Lupin.”

Hermione gasped and Harry felt his stomach drop, but he forced himself to continue his tale: “Than there was one man named Crouch...”  
“That can't be possible!” Hermione exclaimed. “Barty Crouch Jr. died in Azkaban and his father is a high Ministry worker.”  
Harry gave her an incredulous look, wondering when she finally would stop using such arguments. He was about to voice his thoughts, when Ron took the matter from his hand, saying pointedly: “Something like a Ministry position never stopped those who wanted to join Voldemort.”  
Hermione looked sheepish for a moment and Ron asked: “ Anyone else?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, he really needed to warn Dumbledore, they had a spy of Voldemort teaching at Hogwarts after all. “Snape.”  
“What!” Shrieked Hermione. “He's a teacher!”  
“Mione,” Ron said exasperatedly “we just had that conversation. Do you really believe, that a teacher is any better than a Ministry official?”  
“But, Dumbledore...” she tried to argue, but Harry shook his head: “I saw him, Hermione. I am not joking, he was really there.”

The witch looked onto her plate, looking thoroughly scolded. “Sorry, I didn't want to make the impression, that I don't believe you, because I do, it's just...” she broke off for a moment and than asked: “ Have you already spoken to Dumbledore?”  
“Not yet, but I will go as soon, as the feast is over,” he told her and Ron.

Suddenly the door to the great hall burst open and they all quickly looked around.  
Harrys eyes widened, as they fell onto a man standing in the doorway and leaning upon a long staff. He was clad in a black traveling cloak and Harry looked in curious fascination, as he lowered his hood, shook out his long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair and then began to walk up toward the teachers’ table. 

A dull clunk echoed through the hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. The raises of the sinking sun had caught the strangers face and illuminated it.  
Harry gasped.

The man’s face was a face unlike any he had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man’s eyes that made him frightening. 

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man’s head, so that all they could see was whiteness. 

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn’t hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side. 

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students. 

Harry could only stare at him, wondering, what a man like this was doing at Hogwarts. He didn't look, as if he should be let loos near any student.

Just when he wanted to asked his friends, if they had any idea, who the man was, Dumbledore rose and said brightly into the shocked silence: “May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Professor Moody!” 

Harry nearly choked at his mouth full of mashed potatoes, which was still in his mouth. The professors seemed equally shocked, because they didn't greed the newcomer with applause, like it was common and only continued staring, too transfixed by Moody’s bizarre appearance to do more. 

Albus clapped than, joined by Hagrid, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. 

It took the students a few moments to turn back to their plates and continue eating, but once the initial shock was overcome, silent whispering rose into the air, which quickly added up to an loud, curious chatting. 

 

“Who is he? What happened to him?” Harry whispered, his eyes fixed on Ron, who knew the most about criminals and Ministry workers, due to his dads job at the Ministry and this man looked, as if he either was a criminal, or some sort of special agent, who had been horrible wounded. Considering the fact, that Albus had hired him, it was probably the latter.

“Dunno...” Ron whispered back, still watching Moody with fascination, but suddenly his eyes widened and he exclaimed: “Of course! Mad-Eye!”  
“Mad-Eye?” Hermione asked, sounding slightly disapprovingly at the insulting name.  
“Yes, dad and mom always call him Mad-Eye, that is why I didn't realize... He was a high-class auror, one off the best, but many belief, that he had gone insane over the years, persecution complex and such, you know...”

Harry turned once again around to look at Moody, now even more curious about the man. If he had been an auror, than he had to be a good DADA teacher as well.

The man just reached again his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry could see, that his leg ended in a wooden clawed foot. 

Moody had just speared another sausages, when the doors burst open a second time, making Harrys head snapp back to the entrance of the Great hall again, but this time his eyes landed on a small witch, clad completely in pink, with a toad like face and an ugly bow, like a huge fly, in her hair.

He blinked in confusion, having expected something more impressive after Moodys arrival . Next to him Ron snorted. “Thats a bad joke, isn't it?”  
“It has to be,” Harry nodded, eyeing the pink outfit.  
“How old does she wants to be? Four, fife?” Ron snickered.

“You better don't laugh,” Hermione whispered. “This is Dolores Jane Umbridge, she is a ministry official and runs for the new post of Minister of Magic! She is supposed to be prejudiced...”  
“Prejudiced?” Echoed Harry.  
“Yes, she doesn't like any kind of creatures or half-creatures,” Hermione explained in an whisper.

Harry groaned, he honestly didn't want to know, what other nonsense this woman was believing as well. Turning back to the woman, who was now making her way up to the head table, he frowned. A ministry official at Hogwarts, that couldn't be good, regardless of her believes. 

He watched her exchanging a few words with Dumbledore, who's eyes flashed shortly in an unusual display of anger.  
“Have you seen that?” Ron asked and leaned a bit closer.  
“Yeah,” Harry answered, but kept his eyes fixed on that Umbridge woman.

The witch turned to face them and made an odd, coughing noise (hem, hem), before saying: “I fear, there has been a misunderstanding, but let me introduce myself first, I will, after all, teach you all in Defense Against The Dark Arts this year.”

Harry groaned, that couldn't be good, he just knew it, only by looking at that ugly woman.  
“But she can't do that!” Hermione hissed, sounding personally offended.  
“If she has the Ministers backing, she can,” Ron grumbled.

Umbridge started speaking again and they quickly concentrated back on her:  
“It is lovely, to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see those happy, little faces looking up at me!” She smiled, revealing very pointy and very white teeth.

Harry only raised his eyebrows and glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy at all. On the contrary, they looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.

“I am very much looking forwards to getting to know you all and I am sure, we'll be very good friends!”

Now the his fellow students exchanged looks as well; some of them were barely concealing a grin and he could clearly hear Parvati whispering to Lavender “I'll be her friend, as long as I don't have to borrow that bow,” before both of them lapsed into silent giggles.

Umbridge cleared her throat again, but when she continued, some of her breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more business like and now, her words had a dull, learned-by-heart sound to them.  
“The Ministry of Magic had always considered the education of young witches and wizards of vital importance. The rare gift with which you were born may come to nothing, if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we loose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replanished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

Professor Umbridge paused here and made a bow to the professors, non of whom, bowed back to her. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted sow, that she looked positively hawklike and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout, as Umbridge gave another little “hem hem” and went on with her speech.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of govering this historic school and that is as it should be for without progress, there will be stagnation and decay.There again, progress for progress's sake must me discouraged for our tried and tested traditions often requires no tinkering. A balance than, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation...”

Harry saw Ron yawning and he had to admit, that the way how Umbridge spoke, really could lull you into sleep, but he also had heard the carefully hidden informations in her speech and he could see, that Hermione had as well. Still, he just wished, the toad would finally shut up.

“...because some changes will be fore the better, while some will come, in the fullness of time, to be reconsidered as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn must be abandoned.  
We must also guard the future generations from lies, which threaten to infect your mind.” 

At this words, her small eyes shortly flickered over to Dumbledore and suddenly Harry knew, why she was there. The Ministry feared Dumbledore and probably himself as well, because they had tried to tell the truth about Voldemort. They feared, the panic of the public, if it would be faced by a war once more.

Umbridge eyes settled on the students again: “But do not worry, the Ministry will protect you. So let us move forwards then, into an new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intend on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting, what needs to be perfected and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

She finally sat down and Dumbledore started clapping. The staff followed his least, but Harry saw, that many of them brought their hands together only once or twice and McGonagall was still frowning. 

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was very illuminating,” Dumbledore said.

Ron snorted: “That was not illuminating, it was tiring. That was about the dullest speech I ever heard and I grew up with Percy.”  
“No it was not,” Hermione said pointedly.  
Ron gave her a doubtful look and Harry quickly supported her: “Mione is right, Ron.”  
“Than please explain,” Ron huffed and crossed his arms.  
“Well, Professor Dumbledore did say illuminating and not enjoyable,” Hermione huffed back, but than finally explained: “She just told us, that the Ministry is planning to interfere in Hogwarts. I bet they already work on some law changes.”

Knowing, that he had informations, they didn't had, Harry added: “But that's not all. This dream today was not the first one I had. I only received some fuzzy feelings before, but it was enough to know, that Voldemort was planning something, or is planning something. I told Dumbledore, who tried to talk to the Ministry, but they didn't listen.”

“I already wondered, what she meant by infecting our minds,” Hermione scowled. “But that explains it.”  
“It does,” Ron grumbled and glared down onto his still half full plate. “I am not even hungry anymore. And I have so looked forwards to Moody's classes!” The red head threw his knif onto the table and crossed his arms in annoyance.  
“Me to,” Harry agreed, throwing another glance at the witch, she really could not be overseen in her pink cardigan and skirt. She stuck out like a sore thumb between the other professors, who still threw her distasteful glances every so often. Looking back at the student body, he could clearly see, that Ron was not the only one, who's hunger had disappeared after the new professor's speech.

Dumbledore, who obviously had sensed the mood of the students stood up and ended the welcoming feast with a few words and a good night.  
“Are you coming, too?” Harry asked, his eyes on Dumbledore, who just disappeared through a door behind the head table, he still needed to talk with him.  
His friends nodded and Ron said: “Of course we will, mate.”

They fought their way through the crowd and once they were past the third floor, they could quicken their pace.  
“Do you know the password?” Hermione asked.  
“Yes, being Dumbledores adoptive son has his advantages,” Harry grinned and said “Lemon cake,” with a roll of his eyes to the gargoyle.

“You know,” Ron chuckled. “If You-Know-Who really is back, he should start to pick passwords without lemon in it, or the ugly snake-bastard will stand more quickly in his office, than Dumbledore can offer you his blasted candies.”

Harry snorted. He had witnessed how far Albuss obsession with lemon candy went and it was positively scary. He knocked shortly on the office door and entered without waiting for an invitation, like he had done ever since his adoption, but when he stepped in, he froze midway.

Albus was there, but so was McGonagall, Flittwick, Snape, Moody and to his horror Umbridge as well.  
Moodys magical eye was still fixed on the new professor and he wore an openly loathing expression.

“Are students always allowed to enter without invitation?” Umbridge asked sweetly, but with a certain undertone.  
Dumbledore only smiled back: “Of course not, Professor, but Harry is not only a student to me.” 

“Something, which never should have been allowed,” Umbridge retorted, still smiling.  
“Than we all can be lucky, that not even the Minister can change certain laws,” Dumbledore retorted, equally falsely friendly, before turning to Harry. “How can I help you, my boy?” 

Harrys eyes darted from Umbridge to Snape and back to Dumbledore. “I think I will return later.” He would not say anything as long as Snape and Umbridge were there.

“Ah, but we were just finished,” Dumbledore said and gave Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall a look, who in returned turned their eyes pointedly at Umbridge. When the witch only pursed her lips, Snape sneered: “As long as the new Minister of Education has not yet enforced a law, that she can not be thrown out of the headmasters office, I advice you to follow us.”  
Umbridge glare was not very impressive, especially in comparison with Snape's and she finally started to leave with a huff. 

When the door had closed behind the professors, Dumbledore conjured three chairs and asked: “Lemon drop?”  
Harry shook his head, so did his friends and Hermione asked: “Is she really the new Minister of Education?”  
Dumbledore sighed: “I fear, she is, but let us not talk about this unfortunate circumstance, I suppose you came here, because you have something to discuss with me?”

He nodded, the man always knew, when something important was going on.“I had another dream,” he began. “But it was different this time. I actually watched Voldemort.” His friends flinched again, but he ignored it. “He had a body and he called his followers.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed, before repeating the same question Ron had asked earlier: “Can you tell me, who was there?”

Nodding, Harry told him: “I saw not every face, but there was Avery, Fenrir, a man named Crouch, Lucius, Peter...”  
“Ah, well that is hardly a surprise after last year,” Albus mused.  
Harry nodded, but his mind was occupied with the last person he had seen in his dream. He made a short pause to brace himself, before saying the last name, it surely would be a shock for the man. “...and the last person was Snape.”

To his surprise, Albus didn't seem surprised. “Well, that explained, why Severus had wanted to speak to me. Unfortunately, we were interrupted by your new DADA Professor.”  
“You are not worried about Snape?” Harry asked, feeling a bit baffled and taken-aback.  
“No, Professor Snape was my spy in the last war, I trust him with my life,” Dumbledore father explained, but it didn't really convinced Harry, the dark potions master was just too suspicious, a death eater, like you would imagine.

“But he was there,” he argued.  
“Of course he would be, I think he will take up his prior position within the Dark Lords ranks to once again spy for me.”  
Harry furrowed his brow, his dislike of the man, joining his seemingly affirmed suspicion, he would not trust the man just because he had once worked as a spy. Fourteen years were a long time and Snape could have had many changes of heart, that was, if he truly had been loyal to the light side in the first place, another thing he doubted.

“If it would reassure you, I could not mention what you have seen, Harry, and if he comes to my office later and reports to me, we know, that he is still on our side,” Dumbledore suggested and Harry nodded, relieved, that the man would not trust the other wizard blindly.

“How did he look like?” Dumbledore asked than and Harry didn't need to ask, whom he meant.  
Shivering at the memory, he forced Voldemort's face back in front of his inner eye.  
“He looked... like a snake,” he said finally, not having other words to describe the monster he had seen. “His head looked like a skull, his skin was gray, he had only slits for a nose and red eyes.” He shivered a second time and wrapped his arms protectively around himself.  
“And, how was his condition?” Albus continued to ask.  
“He seemed rather healthy, I guess.”

 

The headmaster frowned. “What ever he used, it was no ordinary dark ritual, or his body would be far more distorted, but as the heir of Slytherin, he might know other methods.”  
“Even more distorted?” Harry asked disbelievingly and watched as Dumbledore rose and went over to Fawkes to pat his feathers.  
“Yes,” the man answered. “I fear, for now we can do nothing more than wait.” 

“But we have to do something!” Hermione exclaimed.  
“And what? We don't even know where his hiding place is,” Ron scoffed.  
“You are right, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore agreed. “I would advice, for now we all go to bed and trie to get some sleep. The new term starts tomorrow and I have the feeling, that we all need nerves made from steal with our newest addition to the staff, and Harry-” he added. “This was certainly not a dream, it was a vision. We should think about teaching you methods to protect your mind.”

Harry simply nodded, that certainly sounded like a good idea for the near future, but for now, they only could duck and watch and hope, that Professor Umbridge would not unknowingly help Voldemorts dark forces. They stood up again and said their good bys to Dumbledore, who smiled weakly at them, before going back down to Gryffindor Tower.

Once up in their common room, Ron and Harry wished Hermione a good night, before going up the the fourth year dormitory. Neville, Dean and Seamus were already sleeping, so they didn't unpack their trunks and simply striped down to their boxers before climbing into bed.

“Night Ron,” Harry said, before drawing his curtains shut and sealing them closed.  
“Good night Harry,” his friend answered.

Closing his eyes, Harry listened to the soft sound of breathing. He felt so exhausted. The dream about Voldemort had left him somewhat shaky still and his head had only stopped pounding half an hour ago. He wished he could look forwards to the new school year, but with Voldemort's return and the Ministry at Hogwarts, the outlook wasn't all that bright. Sighing, he turned on his side and ended his many glamours, he just felt better without them and at least at night he wanted the comfort of his real body.  
He closed his eyes, drowsiness already creeping up on him, only to feel something nudge at his mind just before he fell asleep.

The next morning, Harry awoke rather late, but that was typical for his first day of term, he just wasn't used to getting up early, again. Ron was still sound asleep and so he went over to shake his friend awake, after he had casted his glamours again.  
“Leme' sleep, mom,” the read head grumbled and turned his back towards him. Sighing, Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and cast an freezing cold aquamenti, with Ron, you needed to be brutal.

His friend nearly jumped out of bed and glared at him, but he merely said: “Hurry up, we only have twenty five minutes left until classes start.”  
“What?!” Ron screeched and hurried over to his trunk.  
Shaking his head in amusement, Harry quickly dressed into his school uniform, before going into the bathroom. It really was a hassle. Even though, for everyone else it looked, as if he was about 5,7 feet tall and looking direct into his refection to brush his teeth, he in fact didn't, he was too small. So every morning was kind of a blind flight for him.  
Ron joined him a moment later, his white button down buttoned wrongly and his tie still loose.

“You really should check in the mirror before you leave,” he advised his friend with a snort and went downstair, where Hermione was already waiting impatiently.  
“Finally! I already feared you two would miss class. Where is Ron?” she asked and her question was answered, when Ron stumbled down the staircase.

Harry snorted and turned to the portrait hole. “We wouldn't think about sleeping on a day where we maybe have the luck to become friends with our new DADA Professor.”  
They hurried down to the great hall and when they arrived, their new time tables laid already on their plates.

“Great,” Ron complained. “Double History of Magic, double DADA with that toad and to our great luck, double Potions.”  
Harry groaned, that had to be a joke, so bad could no time table be, even Hermione was wincing and that meant a lot.  
“Did you see or timetable?” Seamus asked, leaning over to them.  
“Yeah,” Ron muttered and paled eggs onto his plate.

Dean joined their conversation as well and looked mock-accusingly at Harry: “Couldn't you have done something, being Dumbledores son, I mean?”  
“If I had known, I would have done something,” Harry said honestly. “It really is a shame, that Lupin wasn't allowed to return.”  
“It would have made no difference,” Hermione said wisely and he had to agree with that. He concentrated back on his plate to eat a bit more before they would have to leave for Binns, but all to soon Hermione announced: “Hurry up, or we will be late for class.”

Resigning himself to two hours of boredom, Harry grabbed his school back and followed his friends up to the ghost's classroom. 

It was only 2 hours and 10 minutes later, that he wished to be back in Binns class, when Umbridge started their first DADA lesson of the year. She once again wore her pink cardigan and that horrible bow, which still looked like an huge, ugly fly, unwisely perched on top of an even uglier to toad.  
He exchanged a look with Ron, and Hermione, but they didn't dare to make any comment, this woman would surely take points as easily as Snape did.

“Well, good forenoon,” she said, when finally the whole class had sat down.  
A few people mumbled “Good afternoon,” in reply.  
“Tut, tut,” said Professor Umbridge. “That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”  
“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they chanted back at her.  
“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge sweetly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.” 

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order wands away had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it, where words appeared on the board at once: 

Defense Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles. 

“Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your year.  
You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory- centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.”  
She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:  
Course aims:  
1\. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.  
2\. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic  
can legally be used.  
3\. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for  
practical use. 

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratch- ing quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge’s three course aims she said, “As it was the Ministries fault to not have notified you earlier about the change in teacher, we have sponsored the school books you will need for this year. Please come forwards and take a copy each.” She flicked her short wand and a stack of plain looking books appeared.

Sighing Harry stood up, but waited for his friends to do the same, before making his way to the front. Umbridge gave him a all to sweet smile, when he grabbed a copy. Back at his desk, he looked at the cover, reading the title: Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard. This book sounded as boring as it looked and the word theory, didn't bode well for a class, which needed to be based on practice to teach the students anything.

“Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?” Professor Umbridge asked, as soon as every students had sat down again.  
Harry wanted to roll his eyes, she just needed to look at their desks, or at the empty space where the stack of book had been to know the answer, but that would probably be asked to much of that woman.

A dull murmur of assent sounded throughout the class and Harry could see, that Umbridge wasn't in the least impressed.  
“I think we’ll try that again,” said Professor Umbridge. “When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ or ‘No, Professor Umbridge.’ So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”  
“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” rang through the room.  
“Good,” said Professor Umbridge. “I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, ‘Basics for Beginners.’ There will be no need to talk.”

Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher’s desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad’s eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read. 

It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absentmindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. 

Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her questioningly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction. 

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione’s mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge’s eye than to struggle on with Basics for Beginners. 

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer. 

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.  
“Not about the chapter, no,” said Hermione.  
“Well, we’re reading just now,” said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”  
“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. “And your name is — ?” “Hermione Granger,” said Hermione. 

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully,” said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.  
“Well, I don’t,” said Hermione bluntly and Harry had the feeling, that he knew what was coming. “There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”  
There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard, but Harry only smirked, he just new his brainy friend. 

“Using defensive spells?” Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?” 

“We’re not going to use magic?” Ron ejaculated loudly.  
“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. — ?”  
“Weasley,” said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.  
Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge’s pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione. 

“Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?”  
“Yes,” said Hermione. “Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”  
“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?” asked Professor Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.  
“No, but —” 

“Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way —”  
“What use is that?” said Harry loudly, deciding that he had heard enough of that rubbish. “If we’re going to be attacked it won’t be in a —”  
“Hand, Mr. Potter!” sang Professor Umbridge. 

Harry thrust his fist in the air. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, but now several other people had their hands up too.  
“And your name is?” Professor Umbridge said to Dean.  
“Dean Thomas.” “Well, Mr. Thomas?” “Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” said Dean. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free —” “I repeat,” said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, “do you expect to be attacked during my classes?” “No, but —” Professor Umbridge talked over him. “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.” 

“If you mean Professor Lupin,” piped up Dean Thomas angrily, “he was the best we ever —”  
“Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying — you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day —” 

“No we haven’t,” Hermione said, “we just —” “Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!” Hermione put up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her. “Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?” she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up. 

“Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit in our Defense Against The Dark Arts exams and in our O.W.L. next year? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?”  
“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,” said Professor Umbridge dismissively.  
“Without ever practicing them before?” said Parvati incredulously. “Are you telling us that the first time we’ll get to do the spells will be during our exam?”  
“I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough —” 

Harry really couldn't believe the rubbish he was hearing. “And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?” he asked loudly, his fist in the air again.  
Professor Umbridge looked up. “This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world,” she said softly.  
“So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting out there?”  
“There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge retorted.  
“Oh yeah?” Harry said mockingly. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface since he had entered this class, was reaching boiling point.  
“Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.  
“Hmm, let’s think . . .” said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice, “maybe Lord Voldemort?” 

Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.  
“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter.”  
The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or him. 

“Now, let me make a few things quite plain.”  
Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.  
“I know, that a certain headmaster, has somewhere gotten the unbelievable idea, that a certain dark wizard is on the move again, but I can reassure you, that isn't true. And seeing all your confused view of the truth, it is good, that I am now here to correct them.”

“Well, even if You-Know-Who is dead, there are still Death Eaters out there,” Dean argued.  
“Voldemort was never dead,” Harry spoke up again, “but yeah, he’s returned!”  
“Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself, and more importantly, where should you have gotten that knowledge from, if not from an already mentioned, rapidly getting senile, headmaster?” said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. 

Harrys anger boiled even harder at the insult of the man, who had saved him from certain torture and who was risking his name and supposed insanity by trying to save their world. “As I was saying, everything you hear about this one dark wizard, is a lie.”  
“It is NOT a lie!” Harry growled. “I saw him!”  
“Where did you see him, Mister Potter?” Umbridge asked sweetly and Harry could do nothing more than to grid his teeth, there was no way he could tell everybody, that he had had a vision.

“As I said, another lie, detention, Mr. Potter!” said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. “Tomorrow evening. Five o’clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’ ” 

 

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half- scared, half-fascinated.  
“Harry, no!” Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.  
“Just wait and see what you will get from your stupid ignorance, but I guess it is easy to ignore the signs, as long you have a child to throw on the battlefield if needed?” He asked, his voice shaking with anger, even his magic was rising and crackling in the air.

Professor Umbridge’s face was quite blank. For a moment he thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”  
Glaring, he kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher’s desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next, he would not even care, if his magic decided to lash out to that ugly bitch. 

Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.  
“Take this to you father, dear,” said Umbridge, audible disdain lacing the word father, holding out the note to him.  
Harry took it from her without saying a word and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione, and slamming the classroom door shut behind him. 

Still seething with anger, he stamped up the stairs to Dumbledores office and snapped the password at the gargoyle as soon as he was within hearing range. Albus actually startled a bit, as he flung his door open, making it bang against the next wall.

“By Merlin, my boy!” Dumbledore exclaimed and shut the door with a flick of his wand. “What happened?”  
“Umbridge happened,” he growled and slammed the scrowl in front of Dumbledore, who picked the now, flattened and crumpled, piece of parchment up, before unrolling and reading it.  
Harry decided to sit down as long as he was waiting and conjured a chair, his eyes fixed on Albus, who's expression was still very calm.

Finally the man said: “You have detention for one week, starting tomorrow, even at the weekend.”  
“What? Only because I pointed out, that the Ministry's policy is stupid and dangerous for our world?” He exclaimed in outrage, even though, he should have expected something like this.  
“Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly, but he could here at his toone of voice that he would be serious with whatever came next. “Right now Dolores has not yet very much power, but if she wins the election and you have upset her too much, she can make your llife more complicated than any of us can probably imagine.”

Harry lowered his had, feeling like a scolded child. Dumbledore was right, he had to be more careful, Umbridge had the potential, to become a huge problem for him and neither he, nor Albus needed that. 

Dumbledore looked at the clock, hanging to his left and said: “I think you should go down to the dungeons now.”  
Nodding, Harry stood up and hesitating a moment, before saying: “I am sorry, Albus, I just got so angry, when I saw, how the Ministry will force the minority to stay blind and none the wiser. The war will creep up on them and then they will be unprepared.”

“I know, Harry, I know,” Dumbledore said sadly and without a smile.  
Sighing, Harry turned to the door and left the office again. He was still angry, but Dumbledore had helped to get his magic and range back under control again, now he only had to hope, that Snape would not tick him off within minutes of his potions class again. 

The last class had just ended and he had to fight his way to the lower level. When he reached the door of the potions classroom, Ron and Hermione were already waiting for him.  
“Here,” Hermione said and gave him his school bag.  
“Thanks guys.”  
“What did Dumbledore say?” Ron asked.  
“That I should be careful, because, if she realy becomes the new Minister of Magic, I could get in a load of trouble otherwise.”

“He is right,” Hermione frowned. “But that doesn't mean, that she is wrong. Still, you should be more careful.”  
Ron scoffed. “I really hate her.”  
“Me too,” Harry agreed.  
“Her teaching method is really the worst I have ever seen,” Hermione said, but was cut off, when the door to their class room opened.

The Slytherins took the front row, as usual, not that neither Harry, nor Ron would complain. Even Hermione had stopped after their first year with the snarky professor. They chose a spot as far away from the front as possible, but unfortunately, the lst three rows were already occupied, so the had to settle with seats in the middle of the room.

“Settle down,” said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape’s mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class’s silence.

“Before we begin today’s lesson,” said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, “I think it appropriate to remind you that you are coming closer to the year of OWL's and ay potions we will discuss this year, will form the basicc for potions next year. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ for this year and in your OWL, or suffer my . . . displeasure.” His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who gulped. 

“After these two years, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye.” His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, not needing the badly hidden insults after this morning.

“But we have another two years to go before that happy moment of farewell,” said Snape softly, “so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students. Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level as one of those mentioned basics,: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing.” 

On Harry’s left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness.  
“The ingredients and method” — Snape flicked his wand — “are on the blackboard” — (they appeared there) — “you will find everything you need” — he flicked his wand again — “in the store cupboard” — (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) — “you have an hour and a half. . . . Start.” 

Harry had the slight feeling, that Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion and he would be proven to be right. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counterclockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added. All in all it definitively didn't help with his mood.

“A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion,” called Snape, with ten minutes left to go. 

Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark gray steam; Ron’s was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prod- ding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they had gone out. The surface of Hermione’s potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapor, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant that he could find nothing to criticize. At Harry’s cauldron, however, Snape stopped, looking down at Harry with a horrible smirk on his face. 

“Potter, what is this supposed to be?”  
The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt him.  
“The Draught of Peace,” said Harry tensely. “Tell me, Potter,” said Snape softly, “can you read?” Draco Malfoy laughed. “Yes, I can,” said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand. “Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.” Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multicolored steam now filling the dungeon. 

Scowling, he started to read out loud: “‘Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, al-low to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.’ ” His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes. 

“Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?” “No,” said Harry very quietly. “I beg your pardon?” “No,” said Harry, more loudly. “I forgot the hellebore. . . .” “I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco.” The contents of Harry’s potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron. “Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing,” said Snape. “Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.” 

While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething. His potion had been no worse than Ron’s, which was now giving off a foul odor of bad eggs, or Neville’s, which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron, yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day’s work. He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down onto his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape’s desk with filled and corked flagons. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and back in their common room, deciding, that he would rather skip dinner, than seeing Umbridge once more.

He stormed up to the dormitory and flung his school bag in a corner next to his bed, before going down again and slumping down into an armchair. This day really had ben shitty. Umbridge was even more horrible than he had expected and Snape was the same git as ever, though, that hardly came as a surprise.

How could a perfect summer change in to such an nightmare of an new school year? It really was frustrating, he had hoped for a peaceful year for once, but it seemed, this year he would not only have to fight at the end of it, but also along the line, only, against an other opponent. He really preferred The black robes of Voldemorts followers against Umbridge blinding pink.

Forty minutes later Ron and Hermione entered the common room as well and joined him.  
“Wanna play a game of chess?” Ron asked, already pulling out his wand to conjure it.  
“I would prefer Exploding Snap today,” he grumbled.  
Ron only shrugged and summoned the game. “That is fine with me.”

They played for the next three hours and somewhere in-between Neville, Dean and Seamus joined them, but at last Hermione shooed them up to bed.

Harry noticed, that he still had to unpack his trunk, but shrugged it off for the day and simply pulled out a t-shirt for the night and once again stripped down to his boxers. Ron was still in the bathroom, so he simply drew his curtain close and laid back, closing his eyes. 

Sleep didn't come as quickly as the night before, he was still slightly seething, even though the games of Exploding Snap had helped a lot. He tossed and turned for about another hour, before drowsiness finally claimed him. Just before he fell asleep, something nudged at his mind again and he bolted up once more. 

What was this feeling? Yesterday, he had thought, it was only a thought, who tried to enter his mind, but this time it had felt stronger and definitively different, somewhat curious, if he had to describe it and it certainly did not come from himself. It felt too foreign for that, but not threatening or uncomfortable at the same time.

Frowning, he decided to think more about it tomorrow, he was too tired right now and he had not even the slightest idea about how a feeling, which was clearly not Voldemorts, could enter his mind and it could not be the Dark Lord, or his head would hurt like hell.

Sighing, he lay down again and this time, he fell asleep within seconds.

 

2\. The Triwizarding Tournament:

 

Voldemort sat once again on his throne, but this time, he was merely thinking. He had noticed something and he wasn't sure what that something was, which in return, made him quickly irritable. He was not used to not knowing something, he knew everything after all and he surely was no patient man, but after an initial wave of annoyance, which had earned some of his followers a round of crucio, he had decided, to examine whatever it was in his mind further. 

Closing his eyes, he withdrew into his mind and looked around in that library like space, until he saw it. When he had first seen it, he had instantly known what it was at first sight and his first impulse had been to simply close it in his anger about finding some kind of connection to someone or something in his mind, when he had felt the pulse of power and stopped, suddenly intrigued. 

Now, he again could feel the pulsing power. It was far weaker than his, of course, but it certainly was over average and there was something else as well: It was growing. Only slowly, but with every heart-beat like pulse he could feel it and even though the power seemed very pure currently, he also could see a darkness at the edges. Earlier, he had felt rage coming from it as well and rage was always a good foundation to work on. He could also sense that the power was still young, which explained it's growing and for a power this young, the strength truly was remarkable.

Concentrating even even more, he examined the magic further and noticed something else. The magic moved in an complicated, intertwined pattern, unlike anything a human should possess, but after a while it changed back to the more straight pattern of human magic. These child clearly would receive an inheritance soon.

Grinning evilly, he decided to leave the link open, maybe it could bring him a new, strong follower in due time, he would keep an eye on it.  
Pausing a second, he tried to once again find out more about the source of that power, it had to come from somewhere after all and more informations about it could only help to find whatever was on the other end, when he decided to collect it. He would have to wait for a while longer until the child had come into it's creature inheritance, before would be able to sense it's magical signature. Right now the flowing magic was far too unstable to decipher a clear signature and it would most likely change even more in the upcoming weeks. Unfortunately, he could not see through the beings eyes (it would have helped him immensely in his search) or tell, how this connection had come into being. He could not even say, how long it resided in his mind. It was quite possible, that the connection had been there for years and that he had not noticed it until today, because the power leaking through it had still been too weak. This of course would still not explain why this link had formed in the first place.

This all was frustrating and he could do nothing else but being patient and wait for his opportunity to strike. Maybe, he could start to communicate with the other being, if he put enough magic behind his will and lure it to his manor one day, but for this plan to have any chance of success, he needed something he could offer it.

Frowning, he wondered, why he was beginning to feel so intoxicated by it. But maybe it was only the fact, that this mysterious being at the other end of the mind-link was his first real challenge in decades. Since he had left Hogwarts at age 17 to be precise and that was almost 53 years ago. A sudden, possessive feeling rose inside of him and blinded him momentarily. When the sensation had ended, he frowned at a spot of dust on the floor in front of him. This feeling was by now so known to him, but typically he only felt it in connection with Potter, when he once again indulged himself in daydreams about the Gryffindor-boys brutal death. But the boy's death was now closer than ever before.

He had set his plan in motion and at the end of his fourth school year, Harry Potter would die, leaving him finally able to conquer the wizarding world without another interference and to leading their society back to it's former glory. But until then, it still were a few months and with the current plans of that ugly woman of a Minister of Education, he would need to keep an eye on the boy, if he wished to kill him himself.

And yes, he wished so, because Potter was his. From the very beginning. The boy always had been his. His to overpower, to break and to kill. His property in a way.  
He had not needed the prophecy to know it, because he had felt it as soon, as Potter had been born. The boy's magic had already been so powerful for a child his age and a strange feeling had told him, that indeed he could have magic, powerful enough to challenge him. Oh, how he hated that boy. How he hated to know, that there was another wizard on earth, who could become as powerful as he was. But he was still more powerful now and that was the reason why Harry Potter would die sooner than later, before he could reach his 17th birthday and grow into a real threat, ad even without growing into a threat, he at the very least would become an enormous hindrance on his own way to power. In fact, the boy already was.

Voldemort tightened his grip around his wand as the possessiveness threatened to overpower him once more.  
The possessive feelings he hold towards Potter had even grown with the years. First, directly after his defeat and the second time at the end of the boy-hero's second school year. Both times had been times, after Potter had taken something very special away from him: A piece of his soul.  
So it only was natural, that the boy was his to kill in return, that his death would be in his hands. No one else would have this pleasure, but to make sure of it, he needed to protect the boy this year, or he would be dead long before his plans could fully unfold. 

To have Lucius back in his rank really came in handy, otherwise he would not have known that the Ministry was planning to hold the Triwizarding Tournament at Hogwarts to use the occasion to get rid of Harry Potter themselves, or rather, Dolores Umbridge was planning on getting rid of the boy. National glory was, of course, another reason to reinstall the tournament, which, truth to be told, had been stopped with good reasons. It just didn't do to sacrifice the best students of a generation every five years. 

But still, the main reason for inviting France and Bulgaria was obviously Harry Potter, that at least had been Lucius informations and Lucius never brought false or incomplete informations.

Why she would be so stupid to try to kill the only person, who had been predicted to be born with a power, able to rival his, he did not fathom, or maybe, this power was the reason, why the Ministry feared the boy so much. Now he was still a child, but soon enough he would be an adult, able to ensure his own powerful place in the Ministry and as far as he knew, the young hero's opinion on some matters were quite different to those of the current Minister's. Not as different as his own, but different enough. Potter apparently was a supporter for equal rights for werewolves and other creatures, something, no one at the Ministry wished to see to come to pass. 

But at least, this whole intrigue of the Ministry's Minister of Education gave him the foundation to an plan to get his hands on Harry Potter.

This only had left him with the question, of how to ensure the young hero's survival until the final task, but of course, he had already taken care of it.  
The accusation, of Barty not being devoted enough, had been unfounded, he had to admit as much, after all the man had ben locked away by his father, freed from Azkaban, but kept under the imperio in their family's cellar for nearly one and a half decade, because the young man had actually tried to find him. Unfortunately he had been captured by aurors.  
Barty was surprisingly sane, considering the overly abusive use of the forbidden mind-curse, and had quickly acted on his order to ensure Potters safety at any cost and had gone to Hogwarts, in the disguise of the ex- auror Mad-Eye Moody.

There was no better disguise, unless, he would have managed to capture Dumbledore or the boy-who-lived himself, but than again, the latter would have made their whole plan would have become unnecessary by now.

So his plans were set into motion and for now the only thing left to do was being patient, something he truly hated with a passion. He always could go on raids, of course. He also should infiltrate the Ministry further, having only Lucius and a few more followers there would not suffice in the length of time and then there still was the issue with his locked-away followers, especially his most-trusted. 

He missed Bellatrix, or rather, he missed the screams she could force from a victim, so he really needed to plan their deliverance.

 

And lastly, there was the issue of his immortality. He was (of course) closer to this goale than anybody else in the wizarding world, but unbreakable immortality he had yet to reach.  
When he had started to experience with Horcruxes about twenty years ago, he had not realized how soon a situation could arose where he needed those dark artifacts to save his life when his killing curse rebounded on that brat. But Potter had taught him in an most inconvenient way how quick even his life could end. Back than he had only possessed two Horcruxes, but as soon as his spiritual body had been strong enough, he had created more, until he possessed seven.  
Seven, the number had not been chosen randomly. Seven was the most powerful number in the magical world and he had been sure that it would give his Horcruxes even more power and protection. 

To his displeasure, a second Horcrux had been destroyed by Potter (again) in his second year.  
This cursed child. He should have become his third Horcrux, but his attempt had obviously failed and he had been forced to create the other Horcruxes whilst only having the bodiless form of a spirit. It had been an exhausting task and he had needed years instead of weeks to split his soul in the seven pieces.

With the help of wizards he had possessed, he had hid his Horcruxes at places where neither Harry Potter nor Albus Dumbledore would ever find them and even if they would stumble one day over a part of his soul, the dark magic he had used to protect each one of them was even terrific for his standards.  
But since the incident with Potter he had also become aware of the weaknesses of an Horcrux. The number of seven had indeed given them more resilience, but they were not completely indestructible, and therefore, so was he. He would use the time until he faced the Boy-Who-Lived to search for an absolute immortality, he would not underestimate Harry Potter once more and risk dying.

There were creatures which could grand him immortality, like vampires or dementors, but he was a Pureblood at heart, his strong dark magic and unique inheritance had long since driven the blood of his unworthy father from his body, therefore he would never consider to become a creature. It would be unworthy of his Slytherin heritage.

Rising to his feet, he made his way down to the library with long, purposeful strides. He would start his research now, there was no time to be waisted. He was sure he would finally be able to find the key to an unrestricted lifespan. He had learned much about life and death during his research for Horcruxes, theoretically and practically.

…

“Hem, hem!”  
Harry rolled his eyes simultaneously with his friends. It had only taken one day for that little coughing noise to become the most hated sound in Hogwarts, not even the Slytherins appreciated it and they normally appreciated everything that annoyed the other houses.

It was lunch time and he and Ron had just successfully survived one of the most absurd Divination classes in their lifes, in which Professor Trelawney had predicted, that the entire castle, stones, students and all, would be eaten by the giant squid and now they were sitting in the great hall, hoping for a peaceful lunch, but that hope had just been chattered by that little noise.

“I wonder, what she has to announce now,” Ron grumbled, not even looking up from his plate.  
“I am sure we are about to find out,” Harry sighed and turned to face Professor Umbridge. She stood once again in front of the head table and Moody, who had apparently refused to leave the school yet, glared with his magical eye at her.

“My dear students,” she started and a silent groan went through the student body, some even made a retching sound at her overly sweet voice.  
“I am happy, to make two announcements.”  
“I am sure we will be happy as well,” Hermione grumbled and glared up at her, whilst Harry could only nod, whatever was coming, it wouldn't be good. Nothing coming from that woman would ever be good.

“First of all,” Unbridge continued, “I am very relieved, to be able to tell you, my dear friends...”  
“When does she finally cut that crap about being our friend?” Ron mumbled in between, but Harry didn't answer and continued listening instead.  
“... that the threat of misguided and unworthy teachers will soon be taken care off by the new position of the High Inquisitor,” Umbridge ended her sentence.

He nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. “The what?!”  
“The High Inquisitor,” Hermione repeated, her brows furrowed.  
“What's that?” Ron asked.  
“An Inquisitor is someone, who has the power to investigate and punish, or in this case- probably the power to sack teachers,” Hermione explained in an hushed voice, but loud enough, that Dean, Seamus and Neville could hear her as well and all sported the same worried look, which Harry could feel on his own face. 

That was even worse than expected. Umbridge would probably go after all teachers, who supported Dumbledore and could pose a real thread, which would be at least all heads of houses, that was, if Albus was right and Snape was still on their side. Thinking of him, he would have to find an opportunity to asked the old wizard.

He turned his attention back to Umbridge who just explained: “In the next few weeks, I will personally investigate the standards and abilities of every teacher.”

Looking up, Harry could see many very murderous looking teachers. “But only, if she is not murdered first, I am sure Snape just scans his mind for an convenient, untraceable potion to poison her,” he said, pointing with his chin in the direction of said professor.  
“You could be right, but I believe the possibility to end up as an transformed mice is high as well,” Hermione snickered, motioning towards their head of house.

“... but this is not the only good news I have on this fine noon,” Umbridge went on and Harry couldn't suppress a groan.  
“Britain's school for wizardry and witchcraft has always been one of the best out there in the world, if not the best of all of them. It is the believe of the Ministry, that our high standards in education should not go unnoticed, that is why I can now announce to all of you, my dear little students, that this year, we will have the honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament! In three days, representatives from the France Beauxbatons Academy and the Institute of Durmstrang will arrive in our wonderful castle!”

Absolute silence rang through the hall. Harry could only blink in confusion, he had no idea, what this tournament was, but he was sure, that the Ministry only would host it, to advertise Britain's strength to gain some sort of respect or power over the other countries. Dumbledore and the other professors seemed to think something along the same line as well, because they looked even gloomier than moments before. He could only assume, that Albus was less than happy to see his students used in such a way and if he read the mans expression right, he had not been informed about this tournament at all.

Finally Fred, who sat further down the table interrupted the silence by exclaiming: “She must be joking!”  
Umbridge chuckled sweetly: “I am not joking at all, Mr. Weasley. But as I can see, that many of you do not seem to know what this tournament is, I will elaborate: The Triwizard Tournament was first established about seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry, the already mentioned schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang.  
A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities. Sadly, due to many accidents and grave injuries...”

Harry snorted: “Grave like in fatal?”  
“Probably,” Hermione agreed, before they continued to listen. 

“...the tournament was discontinued, instead of adapting the rules. In the past weeks, the Ministry of Britain has, in cooperation with the France and Bulgarian Ministry, established those adaption. That is why, only students, who are already of age, are allowed to take part in this tournament and for the one champion, who will win in the end, the glory of their school and nation, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money will wait.” 

 

With Umbridge, every student was always weary in the beginning, but glancing around, Harry could see that the interest of his fellow students was slowly getting peaked, although, some had once again deflated at the announcement, that only adult students could represent their school. But those, who could try out for the roll of champion, where gasping in excitement at the prospect of thousand Galleons prize money. He himself was glad for the age restriction, at least, he would not end up as the Hogwarts champion this way.

“So, how can we become the champion for Hogwarts?” A brave Ravenclaw asked with properly lifted hand, which made Umbridge smile approvingly.  
“The selection of the champions will be done by an unswayable judge, the Goblet of Fire, a magical artifact. Those of you, who wish to lead our school to glory, can fill out a piece of parchment with their name and throw it into the cup, which will reside in the great hall from Friday to Saturday evening. On Saturday the coup will then announce the champions.”

Already Fred and George were sticking their heads together and whispering suspiciously. Harry had the feeling, that these two would not be stopped by the mere ban of Umbridge.  
Umbridge finally sat down again.

“I think it is really unfair, that we can't join,” Ron complained, as soon as the usual chattering had started once again.  
Harry gave him an incredulous look. “You can't honestly mean that?” He asked.  
“Why not? One thousand Galleons and glory, that would be great!” The red head protested.  
“Do you really wand to do those tasks, what if they put you in front of an dragon?” Harry questioned, thinking, that they really should be happy, that they were out of the game.  
“They wouldn't do that,” Ron said in an convinced voice.  
“I would be not so sure,” Hermione mused, before looking at her watch. “We are getting late!” she exclaimed and sprang up.

Harry sighed. Normally they would have another ten minutes, but their next class was Herbology, down at the green houses. At least, they didn't had the class with the Slytherins this year.  
They left the great hall and crossed the entrance hall, before leaving the castle. It was still warm outside, but the sky was getting cloudy and the air was humid.  
He quickened his space a bit and his friends followed suit. A few Rawenclaws were already standing in front of greenhouse 4 and they joined them.

“Do you know, what kinds of plants grow in greenhouse 4, Mione?” Harry asked and tried to get a look inside of the glass house, but the plants looked fairly harmless on first sight, which didn't say much, most plants looked like this as long as undisturbed, which didn't mean, that they couldn't suddenly grow tentacles and try to eat you.

“Guardian Plants,” Neville's voice sounded suddenly from behind them and the boy stepped next to Hermione.  
“Guardian Plants?” Hermione asked interestedly.  
“Yes,” Neville nodded. “They are like guard dogs, only worse.” They boy winced, which didn't bode well for their next few Herbology classes.  
“My gran has one of those and no one has ever broken into her home, but sometimes we find a single shoe...” the pudgy Gryffindor shivered.

“That sounds like something, Hagrid would like,” Ron commented and shivered as well.  
Harry had to agree his friend silently, the half giant had a thing for dangerous creatures after all. 

Professor Sprout arrived and waved them over: “Not so shy, we have not yet arrived at the toxic potions plants,” she said and unlocked the greenhouse. Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, who's hands were slightly shaking.

“Please choose a partner for the following lessons and sit down in front of one of the plants to the very left side, but don't bring your stools any closer than 2 meters, before I haven't given you the necessary instructions about how to deal with the plant.

Ron quickly stepped nearer to Hermione and gave him a sheepish look. Harry sighed, he would need to find another partner than. But before he could look around a dreamy voice said at his left: “We are an uneven number of students, would you like to join with Neville and me?”  
He spun around and came face to face with a girl, which looked as dreamy as her voice had sounded. Her hair was nearly as light blond as Malfoy's, her eyes were huge and deep blue and from her ears hung something, that looked like radish earrings.  
“Um...yeah,” he said unsurely, flickering his eyes over to Neville.  
“That is Luna, Luna Lovegood, she is from Ravenclaw,” the boy explained.  
Grinning sheepishly at Luna, Harry said intelligently: “I am Harry Potter.”  
“I know,” Luna retorted with a small smile and bounded over to the plants. 

Neville shrugged and explained: “She is always like this, but she is very nice,” and they followed her.  
The plant on the wooden work bench looked utterly plain, in Harrys opinion. It was small, with tiny, yellow blossoms, the only odd thing was, that it was not kept in a pot, but only in a small mount of soil.  
“So, what can this plant do?” Harry asked, leaning a bit forwards to get a better look, but in that moment, Professor Sprout started her lesson:

“These are Radix Captura, one of the more harmless Guarding Plants we will discuss this year, but do not be fooled, her roots can leave very nasty bruises and if she captures and bind you and you are not found in time, one of your limbs could even die off.”

Harry paled, that sounded already very dangerous to his ears, he was not looking forwards to the really dangerous plants. 

“Today we will practice, how to remove old leaves. Please get gloves and a pair of protection goggles and than start.”  
When Professor Sprout said nothing more, silent shuffling started as the first students got up to fetch the protection items.  
“Doesn't she explain anything else?” Harry asked incredulously, thinking that he needed some more instructions, but Neville and Luna only shrugged.  
Sighing, Harry said: “I will get the stuff,” before standing up and going over to the garden tools shack, which was connected through a door on the opposite side of the green house.

The gloves he found actually would reach over their elbows and he also picked up three pair of secateurs, before returning to Neville and Luna.  
He pulled the gloves on, feeling utterly ridiculous with them and than looked at Neville expectantly.

“The trick is,” the boy said, putting on his pair of glasses “that you let it capture one of your arms with it's roots, but only your arm and it had to wind all of her roots around it, or you will get problems later on...”  
Harry watched as Neville put his right arm securely behind his back and than stepped a few steps in the direction of the plant, which immediately attacked.

Grayish roots shot from the soil and Harry suddenly knew, why the plant wasn't kept in a pot, it would have destroyed it. Neville quickly lifted his left arm and the roots wind themselves tightly around it.

“Than,” Neville continued his explanations, twisted his hand and grabbed the roots “you grab the roots and hold it tight. When the plant doesn't struggle anymore, you can start to cut the old leaves off.”

Harry watched in awe, as the roods struggled for a moment to get free and than went slag. Neville picked the secateurs up and started to remove dried leafs.  
“You know,” Harry said, stepping closer “it always looks so easy when you work with the plants.”  
Luna giggled. “It does, he is a real plants-expert.”  
“It really isn't all that complicated,” Neville said, but Harry didn't believe it one bit, his Gryffindor friend always said something like this in Herbology and it always turned out to be even more complicated than initially expected. 

When a third of the old leafs was removed, Neville let go of the roots, which instantly retreated and gave Harry an expecting look.”  
“You expect me to try that as well, don't you?” He asked.  
Neville merely grinned at him and he groaned, but took a few steps forwards regardless.

The moment he was close enough, the roots shot forwards again and in the blink of an eye, both of his arms were captured.  
“You forgot to put one arm behind your back,” Luna said helpfully.  
“Oh...yeah,” he retorted intelligently, his eyes fixed on that single root, which had left go of his right arm and was now sneaking up towards his throat.  
Luckily Neville quickly grabbed the roots with both hands and after a moment of flexing around his arms, they went still and slag again and as Neville let go of them once more, they retreated again.

“Try again, but don't forget to hide your right arm this time,” Neville said.  
Harry nodded, wishing that there would be a way to persuade Neville, that he didn't need to practice this, but the boy was actually like Hermione in that regard, thinking that everybody needed to do their own work. 

Putting his right arm behind his back and bracing himself, Harry stepped forwards once more. As the roots shot forwards, he lifted his left hand and most of the roots grabbed it, but not all.

“Duck!” Neville exclaimed and Harry quickly followed the shouted comment, just in time to see a root shooting over his head, where his eyes would have been.  
“What shall I do?” He asked, getting slightly panicked as he avoided yet another root with an inelegant stumble to the left.  
“Shake your left arm a bit, so that the other roots will concentrate on it,” Neville adviced.

Harry moved his left arm in front of his body, which wasn't easy with the tight restrains. Already he could feel his arm getting numb and tingly, but as he shook it a little, the attacking roots changed their direction and as soon as they had gribbed his arm, he twisted his hand and grabbed them.

Panting, Harry through Neville and Luna a relieved smile.  
“You did it,” said Luna in an singsong voice and smiled dreamily at him.

43 minutes later, Harry finally left the greenhouse. Ron and Hermione waited for him outside, with Ron sporting a blue eye and Hermione a nasty looking cut on her right cheek. He really was glad, that he had Neville as a partner, the fight against the Radix Captura had been exhausting, but at least he had come out of it without any cuts or bruises.

“You really are a lucky guy, you know that?” Ron grumbled, touching his eye.  
Harry snickered: “I know, guess it was good, that I was left out by you two.”  
Hermione snorted and than asked: “So, when do you have to be at Umbridge's office?”  
“At five,” Harry sight.  
“Than we have still about three hours, we should go to the library and do some homework,” Hermione said.  
“Mione,” Ron whined. “It is only the second day, we doesn't have that much homework already.”  
“That is exactly, why we should start now, Ron,” their female friend huffed.

“We can go to the library, but I want to go to Dumbledore before my detention,” Harry agreed, knowing that it would do no good to argue with the brainy witch over homework.  
“Than let's hurry,” she said and quickened her pace.  
Ron groaned, but Harry only shrugged, as much as he hated doing homework, it had to be done.

They went straight to the library and picked a table in the far back corner, where no one would disturb them. Harry hung his school back over the back rest of his chair and than asked: “So, where should we start?”  
“We could start with the homework for DADA, that is not much, only reading and summarizing,” Hermione suggested, already pulling out her book.  
“Yeah, but it is boring,” Ron argued, but bend down to retrieve his book as well.

Harry merely said: “Let's get it over with,” and skipped to chapter two.  
The second chapter was as boring as the first one, maybe even more so. He really tried to just read it quickly, but he ended up reading the same sentence two or three times again, as the letters threatened to lull him into sleep. After two pages he realized, that he would never remember what he had read, if he didn't start to take some notes, so he summoned his quill and ink pot and a piece of parchment, before starting from the beginning once more. 

In the end he needed nearly as long as he normally needed for an whole essay, only to read 25 pages and write an 2 feet summary, it really was frustrating, but at least he was still quicker than Ron, who actually had fallen asleep midway through the Theory of Defense Magic, or however the boring title actually had been.

He started with his diary for Divination, this year about the topic Dejavue Interpretation and tried to remember, if he had experienced any dejavues in the last days. After about ten minutes of thinking, he decided to do it like last year and just invent something and started to scribble down three dejavues.

Hermione only rolled her eyes at his homework, but spared him the comment.  
At 4PM he was actually finished with all his homework for this first two school days and decided on an impulse to read ahead in his potions book, he didn't want a failing grade in his next potion again.

The next potion the would brew was a mind healing draught, with actually sounded even more complicated than the draught of peace from their last lesson. He would need to keep his thoughts together, or he would mess it up again and royally this time. There were many potions, where you had to stir a minute, or sometimes even ten, but he had never seen a potion before, where you had to stir ten seconds, hopefully his time stopping spell could count down seconds as well, or he would be lost.

Hermione suddenly looked over his shoulder and when she saw, what he was doing, said approvingly: “I think that is a wise decision.”  
But Ron only looked incredulous. “I think it's a sign, that he seriously needs to see a doctor,” he commented, his eyes fixed on Harrys potions book in disbelieve.  
“Well, I can't continue like this. If Snape starts to vanish all my potions, which are not perfect, than I didn't have to show up anymore,” Harry said dryly.

He finished the chapter and cast a tempus, noticing, that he should head up to Albuss office, if he still wanted to visit him before his appointment with Umbridge.  
“I have to go, guys,” he said and quickly packed his things back into his bag.  
“Good luck,” Hermione said and Ron added: “Don't kill her yet, I bet Fred and George want to prank her first.”  
Laughing, Harry waved a see-you-later and made his way out of the library.

Classes where over for the day and most students lazing in their common rooms, so the corridors were empty as he took a short cut to the gargoyle. The stone beast winked at him, before hopping to the side, letting him pass. As he climbed up the stairs, Harry wondered, if his adoption could have something to do with the fact, that he barely needed a password anymore, but he shrugged the question off, when he stood in front of the office door.

He knocked twice, before stepping in.  
“Harry, good to see you. Would you like some lemon cake? Dobby brought me a whole plate and it really is delicious.”  
Thinking that he could accept Dumbledore's offer once in a while, he nodded and sat down onto a stool.

“I guess you want to know, what came from our conversation yesterday?” Albus asked.  
The man really knew him far too well, Harry thought with a happy grin on his face. “Yes, but I also wanted to ask, if you knew about the tournament,” he said, accepting a small golden plate with a piece of cake.  
“Ah well...” Dumbledore said and took a bite from his own cake, before continuing. “To the first issue, Severus indeed came to me yesterday and told me about Voldemorts return, or Toms, I still don't like his self-invented title.”

Harry, who had just taken a bite of the cake himself, nearly choked on it, as he desperately tried to suppress a laughter. Dumbledore looked with bright, twinkling eyes at him, mirth dancing in their depth.  
When he had finally swallowed, he joked: “We could start and call him Tom again, I bet he would dance in joy.”

“A wonderful idea, Harry, I think I will actually do that,” Dumbledore retorted and Harry nearly choked a second time.

“But let us come back to the main topic:” the old wizard said, when Harry was able to listen again. “Severus came to me and his story was identical with yours. What concerns the Triwizarding Tournament, I had no idea, or I would have tried to stop it.” Dumbledore sighed and suddenly looked as old as he was. 

Harry had noticed during the summer, that the man did not simply laugh about everything, or saw it as a simple matter, he only chose to hide his true concerns in front of most people, knowing, that he was a pillar for the wizarding world.

“The Ministry says, that they will prevent death with the age restriction,” the old wizard continued. “But fact is, that there always had been more adult students than underage, due to the fact, that the goblet also takes their magical abilities in account, before choosing and many died still. I am in fact relieved, that the students have actually no idea, how many died in the tournament.”

Harry winced, but he had already assumed something like this.  
“Do you know, when she will start with her inquisition?” He asked, thinking, that he could try to get as much informations as possible, when he was already eating cake with Dumbledore.  
“I believe, she will start as soon as the students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang are here,” Dumbledore said.  
“I am sure Snape will be overjoyed to have her pink presents lingering about in his classroom,” Harry smirked, making Albus chuckle.

“He is already looking forwards to it, so is your head of house,” Dumbledore winked, before adding in an thoughtful voice: “I am still waiting for the announcement, that she will examine my skills as an headmaster as well.”

Harrys eyes widened in horror. “You can't be serious!” He exclaimed, imagining, how Hogwarts would be without Albus and that ugly toad as headmistress instead.  
“My boy, I fear, that my removal is the Ministry's real goal.”  
“Please no, Hogwarts without you is unimaginable!” Harry protested wholeheartedly, knowing, that every Gryffindor would sign that statement as well, but Dumbledore merely chuckled.  
“I am happy to hear your appreciation of my persona as headmaster, Harry, but even though it is not easy to remove a headmaster from his position, there are still a few ways and many more can be invented. We just have to prepare for the worst and be attentive this year.”

Slumping a bit in his chair, Harry nodded, somehow Hogwarts would survive even a year with an High Inquisitor, Hogwarts had survived much worse, the attack of Slytherin's heir fore example, one fifty years ago and one only barely two.  
“I bet she will somehow manage, to appear in every of my classes,” he finally grumbled after another bite of cake, Dobby had really out doe himself.

Dumbledore chuckled as well: “You could be right, Harry. And speaking about her, I fear you have to go now, or you will be late for your first detention.”  
Scowling, Harry quickly shoved the last piece of cake into his mouth, before standing up again.  
“I will be going than,” he said.  
“I wish you good luck, my boy and try not to irritate her even more, than you already have. You know, it is a serious and hard task to hold onto an obvious false truth,” Albus sad with a wink and a bright twinkle in his eyes.”

“It probably is,” He retorted, before exiting the office again.  
The way down to Umbridge's private office on the third floor was far to short, but deciding, that it would look awkward if someone saw him anxiously lingering in front of the door, he decided to just knock, even if it was only five minutes to five.

“Come in,” sounded her sugary voice and Harry just wanted to turn around and just pretend, as if he had forgotten about his detention, but in the end he entered against his better judgement.

Once inside, he curiously looked around after all he had known this office under thwo of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of its owner. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. 

Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. They were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.  
“Good evening, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry startled and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.  
“Evening,” Harry said stiffly, still in daze over the kittens.  
“Well, sit down,” she said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair, on her face one of her ugly smiles. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him. 

Starring at it, he wondered, if she could mean this seriously. Not a single teacher in Hogwarts made their students write lines, not even in detention. No one gained anything from writing lines. The students gained no knowledge and the teachers no help, therefore, students often had to do practical chores mostly, like helping Hagrid with some creatures, or Professor Sprout with some plants. Even the cauldron-scrubbing they had to do for Snape, did at lest benefit the Professor, this was only stupid and made Harry once again feel like a five year old.  
Or maybe, there would be some kind of trick to it, than even writing-lines would probably make sense.

Jerking from his trance, he noticed, that Umbridge was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair, and sat down.  
“No complains about my teaching methods this time?” she asked sweetly, when he didn't respond in any other way, apparently, she had hoped for some kind of violent outburst from him, so that she cold punish him more.

Not wanting to grand her that particular joy, he gritted his teeth, this was a battle of wills, he knew as much. “No, Professor,” he answered equally sweetly and he could see at the twitching of one vein at her temple, that she didn't appreciate to get her own method thrown back at her.

Finally she said: “There, we’re getting better at controlling our temper already, aren’t we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter.”

Harry, who had already expected that much, was already banding down to retrieve his quill and ink, but was stopped by Umbridges sweet voice again.  
“No, not with your quill, you’re going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.”  
She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. 

Taking the quill, he eyed it suspiciously, something was off with it, so much was clear by only looking at the thing, apparently he would be correct with his assumption. Unfortunately he couldn't say what exactly was wrong with it. Well, he would find out in a minute or so.

“I want you to write ‘I must not tell lies,’ ” Umbridge told him softly.  
“How many times?” Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness, successfully hiding his suspicion.  
“Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,” said Umbridge sweetly. “Off you go.” 

Harry frowned at the way she had emphasized the words sink in. Slowly he got a very bad feeling about his detention.

He watched, as Umbridge moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking, before the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing. 

“You haven’t given me any ink,” he said.  
“Oh, you won’t need ink,” said Professor Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice- a rather sick laugh. 

Resining himself to his fait, whatever it would be, he placed the point of the quill on the paper once more and wrote: I must not tell lies. 

Sharp pain surged through the back of his right hand and he let out a gasp of pain and shock. Looking down, he saw, that the words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink and at the same time, on the back of his hurting hand as well, where they had cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel.

For a moment he could do nothing but stare. Professor Umbridge couldn't be doing this. This was torture, real, painful torture, it couldn't be legal. The coppery smell in the air told him without any doubt, that it was his own blood, which was transferred onto the parchment as ink. Did that mean the quill used blood magic? If so, that would mean, that it was an dark magical object and not only illegal withing Hogwarts.  
As he was looking down, starring at the shining cut, he could see his skin healing over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder, but smooth.

He could feel Umbridge gaze on the back of his head, only waiting for him to say something, or to look up, but he didn't. He would survive this without making another sound, or even acknowledging her, he would note give in in front of her.

Instead he placed the quill upon the parchment once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; the words had once again been cut into his skin, and once again they healed over seconds later. 

And on it went again and again in the same pattern. The cut always healed over, but he could feel his skin getting raw and itchy as time went by.

Darkness fell outside Umbridge’s window, considering, that it was still summer, he had been writing lines for hours, but he did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch, after all she was still watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit here all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill!  
Silently, Harry wished every curse he knew onto her. He was honestly tempted to offer Snape his help for brewing a convenient poison, but the man would probably get a better result without him.

After what had to be at least seven hours later, she finally said: “Come here.”  
Standing up, he took his parchment and went over to her, but instead of taking the scroll, she commanded: “Hand.”

He extended his hand and repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. 

“Tut, tut, I don’t seem to have made much of an impression yet,” she said, smiling.  
And you never will, Harry thought inwardly, but kept silent.  
“Well, we’ll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won’t we? You may go.” 

Knowing, that he would only throw some insults at her as soon as he would open his mouth, he left the office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor then, when he had turned the corner and was sure that she would not hear him, broke into a run. 

Now, where he had left Umbridge's office and was out of that situation, his whole body started to shake. He felt violated once again. After his talk with Dumbledore at the end of last term, he had thought, that he would never again feel like this, but now he did. What was wrong with him, that people always wanted to hurt him? Was he really such an freak? Was he unworthy of an kind or even human treatment?

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, he felt so dirty. The patches of skin, where Umbridge's sweaty hand had touched his, still felt sickly sticky. And even though the words had disappeared, he could still see the wounds of yet another insult cut into his skin. It had to be him, something had to be wrong with him, that was the only explanation. Why else would people, regardless of muggle or wizarding world, torture him like this?

He came to an abrupt halt in front of the fat lady.  
“Pass word?” She asked in a good-humored voice, but her friendly smile fell, as she saw his expression.  
“Lion cub,” he said the password and rushed through the hole, intend on taking a shower, hoping to get at least rid of Umbridge's sweat on his skin and than going into bed.

Without looking left or right, he crossed the common room with long strides, but a soft voice stopped him.  
“Harry? What happened?”  
Startled, he froze mid-step and turned around to see Ron and Hermione waiting for him by the fire, it had been Hermione who had spoken.

Forcing his lips into a smile, which hopefully only looked tired and not entirely pathetic, he said: “Just tired. The bloody bitch capt me for...” he glanced at the watch hanging over the fireplace “... seven and a half hour.” 

He honestly hated lying to his friends, they had, after all, never once judged him, but he just couldn't tell them the truth, it hurt too much, it was too close to his personal nightmare coming true, only that it had always been Dudley or uncle Vernon torturing him again.

“Ron and I only wanted to make sure, that detention wasn't too horrible,” Hermione's soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.  
“It wasn't. I only had to write lines,” he reassured her with yet another forced fake-smile.  
“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed. “Lines for over seven hours? She really is crazy!”  
Chuckling dryly, Harry said: “She is, but guys, I really only want to take a shower and call it a night.”  
“Well, we will see you tomorrow than,” Hermione smiled.  
With a last wave he disappeared up the staircase and into the boys bathroom and closed the door behind him. 

He leaned against a sink and tried to calm his racing heart. He didn't want to break down, he would not break down, because of such an ugly, stupid bitch. If he ever would brake down because of anybody again, than because of Voldemort and as evil as the snake bastard was, he at least was powerful as well, while Umbridge was just a sadistic cow.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, only concentrating of his breathing, until he felt his heart slowing down. It was a long process, because his heart was racing so violently and his magic was crackling just beneath his skin, wanting to break free and destroy everything that hurt him.  
When he finally felt calm again, he stepped out of his clothes and quickly ducked under the shower, he wanted to be in bed before 1 in the morning, or he would be useless tomorrow. 

The hot water soothed his tense muscles and he stayed under the spray for a bit longer than he normally did.  
When he finally was dry again, he noticed, that he had forgotten to take his t-shirt for the night along, so he opened the door of the bathroom, glanced around the corner and quickly made his way down to his dormitory in only his boxers. Luckily no one was awake at quarter to 1 in the middle of the week.

Ron was already snoring soundly, so was Neville, when he entered. He quickly climbed into bed, before sealing his curtains shut and ending his glamours. With a loud sigh he let himself fall back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, only to feel that nudging sensation again. 

This time he didn't startle, it had never appeared before he was on the brink of falling asleep, but it had never done something to him either. It had not even cost him nightmares and it felt almost familiar by now. Thinking about it, it had felt somewhat familiar from the start, or it would have worried him much more. He also wouldn't have been able to fall asleep otherwise as well.

Relaxing further into his mattress, he tried to examine the feeling. It felt so familiar, as if it belonged into his mind, it was strange, because it clearly wasn't his. Not really, at least.  
The last two evenings it had been curious, but today it also felt slightly agitated. Had it witnessed his torture and distress? Harry had the feeling, as if it was pondering something, but couldn't say what.

Shrugging mentally, he decided to let it ponder about whatever was concerning it and turned onto his sighed to fall asleep.

The next morning he woke well rested, even though he had only slept about five and a half hours. His dark thoughts had once again retried to the far back of his mind, because he didn't felt depressed anymore. He sighed in relieve, he had feared for a moment, that he would not be able to keep these self-destructive words locked away, but they were gone and he felt much better again. He was so relieved.

He stretched and pulled his wand from under his pillow to reinstall his glamours. When he was finished, he opened his curtains and climbed out of bed. Ron was just sitting up and mumbled a tired “g'morning,” before grabbing his toiletries and disappearing into the bathroom.

Chuckling, Harry shook his head and quickly got dressed before following his friend.  
“Honestly, mate, if she always keeps you so long, I won't wait for you every evening. I am bloody tired,” Ron grumbled in reference to Umbridge.  
“No problem,” Harry retorted and started to brush his teeth. He even would feel better, if his friends wouldn't wait for him anymore, this way, he could hide better, what really happened in that office.  
Ten minutes later they joined Hermione downstairs and went together to the Great Hall.

“So do you think, your potion will be better this time?” She asked, as they climbed down the stairs.  
“Er...?” Harry asked intelligently, not really knowing, what she meant.  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Harry. Don't you not know your new timetable yet? We have Potions first.”  
“We only are here for three days, how shall I already know my whole time table?” Harry asked incredulously.  
“Well, I have it memorized already,” Hermione countered.  
Ron rolled his eyes. “Yes, but not everybody is as crazy as you are, Mione.” 

They had reached the foot of the staircase at the ground floor.  
“I don't know. Hopefully my reading-ahead will help a little,” Harry shrugged, in answer to her original question.  
“It surely...” Hermione said, but their conversation was cut short by an all too sweet voice:  
“Mr. Potter. Would you please accompany me?”

Sighing in exasperation, Harry turned around, only to notice, that Umbridge was flanked by two men in red auror robes.  
“What the bloody hell?” Ron muttered.  
“Tut, tut, Mr. Weasley. This is not very nice language,” Umbridge said with one of her overly sweet smiles and than ordered: “Mr. Potter, please follow me.”

Having an unpleasant feeling in his stomach, Harry glanced over to his friends, who looked as if they didn't want to let him go, least of all alone. Ron was rapidly getting red in his face and Hermione looked, as if she was about to say something, when a voice sounded:  
“Ah, Professor. I hope you are not intending on taking him to your office alone? Interrogation of an underaged child, without the present of a parent, guardian, or teacher is after all not legal.”

Harry actually smirked at Umbridge's gritting her small, pointy teeth. But her hones-sweet smile was quickly back in place and she turned to his step father, who was descending down the last steps of the staircase.  
“Of course not, headmaster. We would have come immediately to your office after collecting Mr. Potter.”  
“As if...” Ron muttered under his breath and Harry nodded in agreement. What ever had happened which lead to Umbridge wanting to interrogate him with two aurors, it couldn't be good.”  
“I bet she wanted to somehow kick you out,” Hermione hissed next to him and Harry could see Dumbledores twinkling blue eyes shortly flicking over to her, before giving an nearly inconspicuous, single nod.

“That bitch,” Ron muttered, but he couldn't answer, as Albus waved him over. “See you in Potions, guys,” Harry said, before striding over. Dumbledore instantly placed a protective hand onto his shoulder, before saying: “Shall we go to my office than, or would you prefer your own, Dolores?”

The use of her first name only seemed to enrage her further, but to Harry's surprise, he could see a maraudish gleam in Dumbledores eyes and he snickered silently.

“I prefer my own,” Umbridge smiled and Harry assumed, that she might need the illusion of her own office giving her more power over the situation, which of course, was utter bullshit.

“Well than,” Albus prompted and motioned for her to lead the way.  
They stepped up to the third corridor, Dumbledore's hand never leaving his shoulder. It was an immense comfort to feel the weight and to know, that with Dumbledore- no, with Albus, he really had gained a father. That was, why he finally should start to call the man by his first name at all occasions, and not only in privacy with him. The man had asked him to and he should at least grand him that small wish. 

Respect had made him hesitate until now, but right now, as he scooted a bit closer to the red velvet robe with the golden suns embroidered on it, he realized, that his politeness probably only hurt him.

Professor Umbridge opened her office door and as they stepped inside, they were greeted by eager mews from the kittens on the wall. In front of Harry, the two aurors visibly flinched at the side of the overly pink room, but quickly straightened their backs again.

“Professor Umbridge,” the older auror said, “please, stay to the side during the interrogation.”  
Harry examined him a bit closer: He had dirty blond hair, was tall and broad shouldered, with grey eyes and a three-day beard. His face was stern, but not unfriendly, he looked battle-tested.  
“But I am an high Ministry official, I am even a Minister,” she pointed out with a smile, but the aurors face only hardened further and Harry got the feeling, that the man didn't like the new Minister of Education as much as he did.

“Yes, you are. But only the Minister of Education, that gives you no power in an interrogation. But if you would prefer, you can always wait outside.”  
Umbridge pursed her lips, but didn't say more and sat down behind her desk, her little toads-eyes never leaving him.

The aurors turned to Harry than and the older one said: “I am auror Jonson and that is auror Mathew.” He motioned to the other man, before continuing.  
“We are here on the request of Professor Umbridge, who believes, that you may have something to do with an incident that happened in the early hours this morning down in Hogsmeade, but I would suggest, we sit down first, before continuing.”

Harry nodded and Dumbldedore pulled his wand out, conjuring a plush, red lounge, that clashed horribly with the pink of Umbridge's office, but seemed to amuse the old wizard immensely.

Jonson and Mathew sat down in two armchairs, while he and Albus took the couch.  
“Mr. Potter,” Jonson began again “this will be an official interrogation, this means, that everything you say, can be used against you should this incident be carried in front of a court.”

Harry started to feel honestly nervous, even with Dumbledore next to him. For some reason, he felt utterly small and intimidated, a feeling he had never felt within the wizarding world, but maybe Umbridge's detention had broken something inside of him after all. He swallowed once, to get rid of the lump in his throat and than said: “I understand, sir.”  
“Good,” Jonson said. “Mr. Andrews, the owner of the apothecary in Hogsmeade was found dead this morning. He was killed around 3. 30 AM and the Dark Mark was cast over his store,” Jonson continued.

Harry only blinked in confusion. “And what has that to do with me?” He asked incredulous, not seeing the connection.  
“Well,” this time it was the auror named Mathew, who spoke up for the first time. He was smaller than Jonson, with dark brown hair and light green eyes. He made a sly impression and Harry found him uncongenial.

“Professor Umbridge informed us, that you insist on making the student body believe, that he-who-must-not-be-named is back and even started a loud argument over the issue in one of her classes.”  
“And that is why I should have killed him?” Harry couldn't suppress his snort any longer, this was just to ridiculous and he was relieved to see, that Jonson was also slightly frowning at the accusation his colleague made.

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Mathew affirmed. “Your claims went obviously unnoticed, so you wished to give them more weight with your doing.”  
“That is utter bullshit!” Harry exclaimed.  
“Mr. Potter!” Umbridge snapped from her place behind her desk.  
Harry sighed and took a deep breath, before saying in a much calmer voice: “First of all, yes, it is true, that I told my class and that Voldemort is back, because it is true after all, but it is not true, that no one in my class acknowledged me.” He huffed in annoyance. 

The aurors flinched, but Mathew quickly collected himself again and narrowed his eyes: “That might be true, Mr. Potter, but you also tried to convince the Ministry and you certainly didn't succeed there.”  
“Ah, but I fear that was me, not my son,” Dumbledore said with a smile.  
“Than he wanted to help you, headmaster. After all, you were the one who saved him apparently from his relatives.”

The breath hitched in Harrys throat. Where did the auror had that information from? As far as he knew, Amelia Bones had sealed his case. He looked up to glance at Albus and saw the man narrow his eyes as well.

“Please tell me, auror Mathew, where do you got informations from a sealed case?” Dumbledore asked, his voice icy cold and Harry found himself relieved, that the man never would be his opponent.  
Mathew huffed: “I do not have to reveal my sources.”

“I am still member of the Wizen Garmont and thus, can demand this information,” Dumbledore countered.  
Mathew grew pale and Jonson said with a glare at him: “I am sure my colleague has already forgotten this bit of informations, headmaster.”  
Mathew nodded quickly.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. 

“You still have more than enough reasons to commit a crime such as these,” Mathew continued with another train of thoughts, making Harry blink in disbelieve once again.  
“This incident brings you, Mr. Potter, back into the spotlight, being the one who defeated you-know-who 13 years ago and even more so, if the public should really start to believe, that he has returned.” 

Harry growled. This accusation was even more laughable than the last one. “I have more than enough attention, even more than I ever wanted. If you would take the time to look into the Daily Prophet or any other newspaper, you will see, that not a single day goes by where no article is posted about me.”

“But they are no articles about heroic deeds. Surely you would wish to see these again and get rid of the newest rumor concerning your love life?“  
Rolling his eyes, for what felt like the hundreds time this day, Harry retorted: “I would prefer to be normal and show not up in the paper at all. You can ask all my friends, they will confirm my statement.” 

Mathew narrowed his eyes: “You could have lied, Mr. Potter. No one likes to admit, that he feels as if he gets not enough attention.”

Dumbledore cut finally in again, clearly at the end of his patience: “Concerning the matter of the crime, I believe there is a quick and quite sufficient solution to our problem.” He hold his hand out in front of Harry, who blinked at it and asked: “Harry, would you please hand me your wand?”

Nodding, Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve and gave it to Dumbledore, wondering what Albus would do. Dumbledore had pulled out his own and mumbled a spell, before pointing it to the next wall of Umbridge's office. 

Harry watched in awe, as his wand started to fire off spells: a summoning spell, an unlocking spell, the three glamours he always used, a locking spell, another summoning spell and lastly a strong blasting curse, which blasted quite a huge hole in Umbridge wall. 

Little red numbers had appeared with every spell and as he realized, that it were the times, he also realized, that Dumbledores spell had made his wand repeat the spells he had casted in the last 12 hours, only with the last one first.

“As you can see, Harry has not cast morsmodre,” Albus said friendly but insistently, but Mathew still looked suspicious.

“Why so much glamours?” The man asked.  
Harry really didn't want to answer this, there were things these men had no right to know, so he simply said: “Scars.”  
“But you can't glamour a cursed scar,” Mathew pointed out, referring to his famous lightning-bolt scar.  
Rolling his eyes, he retorted: “I said scars and not scar.” With a flick of his wand he lifted one of his glamours from an especially nasty scar on his cheek, where Dudley had successfully pushed a knife deep enough into his flash to make the tip come out in his mouth again.

Mathew and Jonson both gasped and Jonson quickly said: “I think we are finished Mr. Potter. Our apologies for the inconvenience. I think we can say without a doubt, that you are not involved in the murder of Mr. Andrew's.” He threw a filthy glare at Umbridge, who looked more than unhappy at the outcome of the interrogation. 

Harry followed Dumbledore when he rose and vanished the lounge again, happy to get finally out of this hellish office.  
“I will escort you back to the Entrance Hall,” Dumbledore said friendly, but in a voice that made it clear to everyone, that he would accept no objection. The two aurors followed him, but Dumbledore stopped at the office door and turned back around to Umbridge: “Professor, next time, when you are worried about one of your students, please come to me first. I am sure these fine officers have more important things to do than to follow false leads.”

Umbridge glared at the man's retreating forma and without waiting for a retort, Harry swept out of the door, quickly following Albus, before Umbridge could make him stay behind.  
Down in the entrance hall, Dumbledore said a few parting-words to the aurors, before turning towards him, after they had left and the front door had closed behind them.

“Well, this challenge we have conquered. I believe you have Potions now.”  
Harry sighed. “I have.”  
“Than we will see us later,” Dumbledore said with a smile, before turning around and disappearing up the stairs again.  
Resigning himself to what ever nasty remarks Snape would have prepared for him, Harry turned in the directions of the dungeons and made his way down to his classroom. If there was anything worse than Potions class in general, it was being late for Potions class.

He opened the heavy, wooden door and tried to slip in as unsuspiciously as possible, but as soon as he had entered, Snape's sneering voice announced: “25 points from Gryffindor. There is no reason to be late for my class, not even for an job interview with the aurors, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gritted his teeth and quickly went over to his work space, where his friends greeted him with a questioning look.  
“Later,” he whispered and pulled out his Potions textbook.  
“Harry,” Hermione worried her bottom lip as she could not suppress the question that was lying on her tongue. “Had it something to do, with that article about Hogsmeade?”  
Harry looked around shortly, checking if anybody was listening in on them, before saying: “Yes.”  
Hermione nodded, before stirring her potions two times clockwise.  
Ron sucked in a harsh breath, but he too, turned back to his cauldron.

Opening his textbook, Harry skipped to the page of the Mind Clearing Solution. He was glad, that he had already read the instructions once, that gave him at least a small chance to complete the potions within the lesser time he had. Snape surely would not give him 30 extra minutes to finish his assignment. 

He quickly went into the storage room and retrieved the ingredients he needed, before starting to prepare them, careful to not miss a line of the instructions once again. The next 15 minutes he chopped, sliced and diced, before finally turning to his still empty cauldron to begin the real brewing process. He would not let Snape vanish this one as well.

With a determined look, he filled the cauldron with the right amount of water and than added the dragon's saliva, which would make the water able to boil on a much higher temperature. 

“Mr. Thomas, pray tell, what shall this be?” Snape's sneering voice carried over to him, but he just was glad, that he was not the once who got insulted for once and ignored it.

He added the ring snake skin, before stirring the potions three times clockwise and one and a half times counter clockwise.

When Snape finally announced, that they should bottle up their potions and bring a sample to his desk, Harry was glad to see that it was only slightly darker and a tad bit thicker than it should be at it's stage, granted, he have had no time for the last step of the brewing, which would have been let it simmer for 7 minutes, but he was sure that he at least would get a mark for it and no T as well.

Snape sneered at his viol and for a short moment Harry feared, that the man would refuse to mark an unfinished potion, but than he gave a curt nod and accepted the unfinished Mind Clearing Solution.

As Ron passed him, he could see, that his friends potion was unfinished as well and instead of an silvery blue, it was bright pink. Harry gave him an sympathetic look and Ron visibly braced himself, before stepping up to Snape.

“hen everybody was seated again, Snape announced: “Next week we will start with with the topic of healing poisons,” before snapping a “dismissed.”

“Your potion looked fairly good,” Hermione commented as they left the classroom.  
“It did,” Harry agreed with a relieved sigh.  
“So,” Ron interrupted them “what did Umbridge want?”  
Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione stopped him. “Wait a moment;” she said and waved her wand mumbling “in privato.”

A transparent, shimmering bubble suddenly surrounded them, before it flickered and disappeared.  
“What's that?” Harry asked curiously.  
“A moving privacy charm, it will stay around you, even if you are on a walk. Quite useful, I found it yesterday in a book about security spells. The only problem is, that it is quite noticeable in the first seconds of casting, but than it's very save,” Hermione explained.

“Oh, you have to teach me that one,” Harry grinned and than lapsed into the revision of his interrogation.  
“You said, that there was an article about Hogsmeade?” He started.  
“Yeah, quite nasty,” Ron confirmed.  
“Well, apparently Umbridge told the aurors, that she has a student, who insist on spreading the lie, that Voldemort is back. But because no one listened to him, he apparently saw it necessary to give his words some more weight,” Harry told them sarcastically.

“But, the guy has been tortured to death!” Ron exclaimed. “She couldn't honestly think, that you would do something like this!”  
Harry shrugged. “I don't know if she really think I could torture someone, or if she simply wanted me out of the way.”  
“Did they had more accusations?” Hermione asked in an thoughtful voice.  
“Yes,” Harry nodded. “I also was unsuccessful with persuading the Ministry, that only added to my frustration.”  
“But it was not you, who went to the Ministry to warn them,” Hermione pointed out.  
“Well, but he is my adoptive father and I wanted to help him, after all, Albus saved me from my abusive relatives.” Harry snorted.

Hermione winced and Ron asked: “I thought your case is sealed?”  
“Albus pointed that out as well, so the one auror, who apparently wanted to see me in Azkaban as well had to change tactics,” Harry smiled coldly, he really was annoyed by the man and his new DADA Professor.  
“Oh no, what did he say?” Hermione asked, sounding as if she wasn't sure if she could handle any more of that bullshit.

“He pointed out, that I am not very often in the paper anymore and that I feel, as if I get nod enough attention. When I told him, that there is every day an article about me in the bloody paper, he said, that it was not the kind of article I want to read. No heroic deeds, you know.”  
Hermione actually made a bristling sound at his last words.

“But Dumbledore helped you, didn't he? You couldn't have any real problems with him there.” Ron asked.  
“I hadn't, he preformed a spell, which made my wand repeat all the spells I have cast in the last 12 hours, so I could go again.”  
Hermione's eyes widened: “She used priori incantatem?”  
Harry only shrugged: “He didn't say the spell out loud. Where was I with the story?” He thought for a moment, until he remembered and than continued his tale: ”Umbridge really was angry. I think she wanted to get me without Albus and intimidate me into silence, so that she would be able to claim, that I couldn't deny anything, because I have done the murder, or something like this.”

“That sounds like her,” Hermione agreed, just when they arrived at their transfigurations classroom.  
“I really hate her,” Ron grumbled, but their conversation came to an end, when McGonagall opened her classroom door that moment.

They went to their usual seats in the front row and the next two hours they listen to a long lecture about the theory of object to animal transformations. Harry always liked McGonagalls class, but to the begin of every topic she tended to hold one of these long lectures, which left him and most of the other students bewildered, with the exception of Hermione, of course. Luckily the theory was not very important in the end and until now, he had always found a book which could explain the theory to him before his end of term exam.

After transfiguration was over, they went down to lunch, where they joined Fred and George, who both had laid their heads down onto their still empty plates.  
“What's up, guys?” Harry asked with a lifted eyebrow, examining the normally cheerful twins.  
“Just sat through two hours of Defense, a Theory for Advanced Learners,” one of the twins mumbled, but with their arms shadowing their faces, Harry could not tell, if it had been Fred or George.

“At least she didn't try to accuse you of murder,” Ron grumbled and the heads of the twins shot up.  
“What...” George started and Fred ended “...did she do?”  
Sighing in defeat, Harry repeated his story a second time.

“That bitch,” the twins exclaimed in unison as soon as Harry had ended.  
“Don't worry, Harry,” Fred said, more serious than he had ever seen the older boy. George nodded and finished the sentence for his brother: “We will revenge you.”

“Thanks, guys. If you need help, I would be happy to assist.”  
“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “Has your father not warned you only yesterday to not offend her too much?” she stopped, gave him a sheepish look and than asked: “Can I call Dumbledore your father?”

Harry blinked for a moment and remembering the realization he have had earlier, that Albus honestly had adopted him as his son with his whole heart, so he said: “You can, I think he will even be happy about it. I mean, he has adopted me and even announced me his legal hair.”

“Isn't that the same?” Ron asked. “I mean, a son is always the heir, isn't he?”  
Hermione shook her head. “No, with an adoptive child, you have to announce him or her your heir, otherwise the adoptive parents hold only the guardianship. It is an old law, which should ensure the main line of pureblood families, in case, they adopt an older son of an main branch.”  
“Why should they even do that?” Ron asked.  
“Because,” Harry said “parents die sometimes.”  
Ron flushed and his brothers snickered: “Oh, our poor little Ronny-kins just embarrassed himself once again.”

Grinning, Harry said: “But really, boys, if you need some help, then let me know.”  
“We'll do that,” they grinned back.  
Winking, he grabbed the next bowls with noodles and started filling his plate.

“Well,” said Fred, between two bites. “Forge and I may have come up with a few ideas the last two days.” Forge snickered.  
“Oh really, guys, you all will get into trouble!” Hermione huffed exasperatedly.  
“They will make sure, to leave no traces,” Ron tried to sooth her, but she still looked disapproving. The only thing, Harry mused, which probably stopped her from saying anything more, was the personal hate for Umbridge she was building up. For Hermione, teachers were close to gods and to see a woman misuse such an holy position like Umbridge did, had to be a huge sin in her eyes.

“So, how was detention with her?” George asked, just when Ginny joined them.  
“Just lines, but that for seven hours,” he answered.  
Ginny sputtered: “Seven hours?! She is crazy!”  
Not wanting to think about the detention too much, because it would only remind him, that he had to return in four hours to that horrible office and that torture device of an quill, he said dismissively: “Yeah, she is.” 

The rest of their lunch went by with lighter conversations and after break was over, Harry made his way down to Care of Magical Creatures, together with Ron and Hermione.

For once, Hagrid had no horribly dangerous and deathly creatures waiting for them and was grumbling something about “Having to go through the official curriculum first.”

So the next hour they fed Chic-Chicks, some kind of magical chicks, which looked exactly like normal chicks, only that they never would grow into an adult chicken. The class was not very interesting, but at least, harry hadn't to fear about getting bitten, burned or stabbed, so he didn't complain. His friends looked as relieved as he himself, when they finally went back up to the castle. 

“So, we have three hours left until you have to go to Umbridge,” Hermione said, opening the entrance doors. “What should we do until than?”  
“No homework!” Ron exclaimed immediately and Harry nodded. He really wanted to do something nice before going back to that bitch.

“Do you want to play some chess?” Harry asked Ron.  
“Sure, why not?” Ron agreed.  
“Than I will just read a bit,” Hermione mused with a content expression. 

When they had reached their common room, they parted shortly to bring their schoolbags up to their dormitory, or rather, Harry went up with his and Ron's bag and promised to fetch the chess board for them, because Ron claimed to be too tired.

He quickly deposited their bags on their beds and was about to fetch Ron's old chess board from his friends trunk, when a nervous knocking sound startled him. He looked around, but when he saw no one entering, he looked over to the window, where a small, agitated, brown owl fluttered in front of it, a small piece of parchment attached to one leg.

Harry went over to the window to led the bird in, which instantly landed on top of his head. Frowning, Harry tried to shoo it away, but it only hopped a bit to the side to avoid his hand.

Sighing, he went back to Ron's trunk, fetched the board and went back down. As soon as Ron saw him he snorted, making Hermione look up, who was already engrossed in a book.

“Who is that?” She asked with a giggle.  
“Don't know, but he doesn't want to leave my head,” Harry grumbled and flopped down next to her. “Could you please get the note and if possible the owl as well?”

Still giggling, Hermione nodded, before she grabbed the small owl with a quick movement and untied the note.  
“I guess it's for you?” she asked and handed him the parchment.  
“Thanks,” Harry said absentmindedly, unrolling the scroll, before checking the bottom of it.

“Its from Padfoot,” he grinned.  
“What? How is he doing?” Ron asked eagerly.

“Don't know yet, I have to read first,” he said and started to read the short letter:

Dear Harry,  
I am sorry that I was not able to write you sooner, but I had to find a save place first. Albus told me, that you would stay at Hogwarts during summer, or otherwise, nothing would have stopped me to write you regardless.  
I found a good place yesterday, actually quite near by, so just tell me, if you ever want to meet up, I honestly would like to see you again.

Buckbeak is fine as fine as well, I left him with an Hippogriff breeder, who has such a big herd, that he won't attract attention. They are all grey as well and when I left, Buckbeak was already happily flirting with a chick.  
I didn't plan on leaving him at first, but my place is just too small and he will be happier with a herd of his own, so please don't be mad, pup.

Please give Ron and Hermione my regards as well and tell Ron, that he can keep the owl as it's my fault, he no longer has a rat. I have some doubt about his reliability, but he is the best I could find, and he did seem eager for the job.

I will write again soon, Padfoot.

“He says you can have the owl,” Harry said to Ron after he had finished.  
“Really?” Ron grinned.  
“Yeah, he says sorry about the loss of your familiar,” Harry said pointedly, because a bunch of second years were just entering.  
“Than tell him thanks when you write back. Mum and dad never would be able to buy me one,” Ron said and tried to take the owl from Hermione, but the blasted bird only flew on top of Harrys head again.

“Hey, are you trying to steal my owl?” Ron mock glared and Hermione snickered.  
The girl tried to free Harry from his headdress, but this time the little bird was prepared and somehow managed to avoid her every time.  
“Just let him be,” Harry sighed in the end. “As long as he gets off before I have to go to detention it's fine.”

In that moment Hedwig flew in, saw the other owl on his head and hooted offendedly. She swooped down on the smaller bird, who instantly fluttered away, but Harry only had a moment to be thankful for the loss of weight on his head, when Hedwig landed and wriggled a moment to make herself comfortable. 

Ron burst into laughter, while Hermione started giggling. He glared at them, and tried to push Hedwig off his head, but she made herself heavy and didn't budge an inch.  
“I think someone is jealous there,” Hermione snickered and to his absolute horror she called Collin over, who was just coming down the staircase, his camera around his neck as usual.

“If you ask him to make...” Harry's sentence was cut short by the loud puff from the third year.  
“That's a great picture, you look so cute with your owl on your head,” Collin grinned happily. “I will make you a copy,” the boy promissed, before saying: “I have to go now, Dennis and I want to go down to the lake, would you like to come with us?”

Harry quickly shook his head. It was enough to exchange a few words with his overzalous fan every other day, he didn't need to spend his free time with him. “I have detention soon.”  
“Oh,” Collin looked disappointed for a moment, but than said “See you later, than,” and waved goodbye.

“Than let's start with the game,” Ron said as soon as they were alone again and flicked his wand to set the pieces, but Harry turned to glare at their female friend. “Really, did you have to call him? Now this photo will be around the school by tomorrow,” he huffed, feeling a bit hurt in his manliness.

“But you look so adorable with Hedwig on your head,” she gushed in a very girlish voice, that was utterly untypical for her.  
Ron lifted a questioning eyebrow at Harry, but he only could shake his head in disbelieve at the sound.

He and Ron finally started their chess match and in the next two and a half hours Harry lost more games than he could count, while Hedwig didn't move an inch. 

He always lost against Ron, but with the prospect of Umbridge black quill looming over him, he grew more and more distracted as time went by and 5 PM grew nearer. His hands even started to shake slightly around 4.

At 10 to 5 Harry nudged Hedwig and said: “Hey Girl, I have to go to detention now.”  
She hooted disapprovingly and stayed seated.  
Sighing, Harry promised: “You can sit on my head again tomorrow.  
Hedwig rustled her feathers, as though she was thinking about his offer and than finally left his head again.

Sighing, Harry got to his feet, said “see you later,” to his friends and left the common room to walk down to the third floor. When he arrived, he didn't knock immediately, but took a deep breath and tried to still his hands, which were by now shaking violently. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. His dark thoughts from the day before started returning again and the question, why he always was the one, whom the people wanted to hurt.

With an uproar of his mind, he pushed the thoughts away again, they wouldn't help him and only make him feel more miserable. So he clenched his fists and knocked.

“Please come in,” piped Umbridge's honey-sweet voice from behind her office door.  
After having taken one last calming breath, Harry pushed the door handle down and entered.  
“Mr. Potter, I have already prepared your work table. The line will be the same as yesterday, we want it to sink in, after all, Mr. potter.”

Harry only gave her a curt nod, determined on not letting her see how distressed he actually felt. Without hesitating a moment, he sat down behind the small table and grabbed the quill, before placing it onto the parchment in front of him.  
His hand, instantly started to burn.

…

Voldemort gritted his teeth. This was the second time and it always had started around 5 PM. Since two hours now he could feel pain coming through the link. Whatever happened to the other one, it caused him physical and mental pain and pain, regardless in which form it occurred, was a feeling, he didn't appreciated. He had believed, that he had overcome all weaknesses that could cost him pain a long time ago, but apparently not. It made him feel weak again, even though he was everything but. He hated it.

He had already tried to distract himself by torturing Wormtail, but it had not helped, it just wasn't satisfying to torture someone, who broke at the blink of an eye. And trying to continue with his research would be of no use either as long as he was not able to concentrate on the old and difficult writings.  
That was why he now forced his enraged mind to be clear again. When this continued, or grew even worse he would have to do something. Pain was not a feeling, he liked to experience, at least, not when he wasn't the one causing it. 

He started to pace back and force in his throne room, like a caged animal.  
There was absolutely nothing good about pain, not if he wasn't the one inflicting it in others to make them bend to his will.  
Suddenly he stopped in his track. A evil grin spread over his thin lips, as a plan formed in his mind. Maybe, there was something good about this pain after all. Maybe this could become his chance to start ensnaring who ever it was on the other side.

Yes, at least that much he had determined, the one at the other end of the link had to be a human, or at least a creature, who was very close related to a human, his range of emotions left no place for another possibility.

A very sadistic and delightful shiver ran down his spine. Oh, he wanted that power. This darkening, but still so sweetly innocent power. He would gain it and taint it, until it would be darker than any other magic of his followers, until it would be nearly as dark as his own.

The boy, or girl would be a good addition to his forces.  
Feeling a bit calmer again, he sat back down onto his throne. He would keep having an eye on this person and hopefully, when his chance to strike came, his magic would be sufficient enough to reach the child. Than he would start to lure his way into it's heart and seduce it to his side.

Normally he preferred material gifts and rewards to convince young recruits. It took much lesser time to hand over a bag full of galleons, or a rare, dark magical artifact, than to actually seduce someone and he always had despised close social relationships, but in this case there was no other path to his goal. 

Well, he would pretend for a few weeks and as soon as the prodigy would have his dark mark, there was no escaping him anymore and he could return to his usual ways.

…

Harry's hand throbbed painfully when he finally left Umbridge's office at half past thre in the morning. He wanted to race back to the common room, but his legs were shaking and he tried desperately to keep the depressing thoughts at bay, these silent whispers, that he deserved this punishment, because he was a freak, that there had to be a reason, why so many people wanted to hurt him.  
A sob escaped his throat and he quickly bit on his bottom lip to prevent another sound from escaping.

This nightmare would never be over. The Dursleys were not a random cruel family, where he unfortunately had to live with for 13 years, they were just an example for many more people, who could clearly see, that he didn't deserve a nice word, or a gentle hand.

He himself couldn't see it, but he guessed that was normal. An alcohol addict didn't thought of himself as an addict as well and he was just the same.  
His muscles trembled as he sat his write foot onto the first step and it caused all his remaining willpower to drag himself upstairs. He was so exhausted. His body was tired from being 19 hours awake and his mind was a whirlwind of emotions and memories, while feeling somewhat numb at the same time.

With every step his legs hurt more and he even needed to stop and take a break a few times. When he finally had reached the last landing, he couldn't say how long he had needed. He dragged his feet along the dark corridor until he finally reached the fat Lady. She was already asleep and Harry had to knock on her frame to wake her up.

She looked drowsily down at her and he tiredly gave her the password, and waited for her to swing to the side. He wasn't disappointed, when he found the common room empty, he wasn't in the mood to speak to his friends right now, anyway. Probably, he wouldn't even be able to. How was someone to tell his two best friends, that he was being tortured by their professor? How should he ever tell them, that he somehow had to deserve this treatment, because there was just no other explanation he could find?

For a moment he led his eyes wander through the dark common room. The only light came from the dying fire in the hearth, but finally, he forced himself the spiral staircase up to his dormitory. 

Loud snoring greeted him, but he paid it no attention as he climbed onto his bed, still completely clad in his school uniform, with shoes and all. He closed his curtains, locked them and added an silencing spell and as soon as he was sure, that no one would here him, he rolled into an ball and tears started to stream down his face.

He sobbed loudly as the unfairness of his life sank in. It was always him: He was the one, who's parents had been killed. He was the one, who had to live with relatives, who didn't want and starved him. He had gotten countless scars edged into his skin and now he was the one, who was once again the one being tortured, after just having escaped that hell ten weeks ago.

He clutched his hurting hand to his chest in an desperate effort to comfort himself, but it was no good. There was no comfort from him, none he could give himself, anyway, he just hadn't any strength left. 

The tears felt hot on his skin and he was drowning in darkness. It hurt so much, everything hurt so much, his whole life was one long nightmare, with only short phases of wakefulness. He couldn't stand this anymore, he just...

And than suddenly a wave of calmness and understanding swapped over him and Harry's sobbing stopped in surprise as the sensation relaxed his muscles and soothed his mind, without that he could have done anything against it.

As the soft waves washed over him, he recognized the signature of that prodding sensation he had felt the last two evenings, but now it felt more like a present in his head, as if it was a real person, someone, who was trying to help him.

The waves changed a pit, carrying the promise of help, support and strength.  
Closing his eyes, Harry sighed. Only seconds ago he had felt utterly alone, but the feeling was gone, chased away by the supporting present in his mind. He let himself be covered by the calming waves it send through him. He wanted to thank it for it's help, but his mind was already slipping away from him. He was too tired and too blissful to say a simple thanks and before he knew it, he was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J. K. Rowling.

 

3\. Comfort:

 

“I told you, but you never wanted to believe me, you freak!” Vernon's voice sounded mockingly.  
“I know I am!” he sobbed, falling onto his knees in front of his uncle.   
“Than you at least know, why you deserve this!” Vernon said and he didn't dare to look up as he heard the sound of an belt being unbuckled and pulled out of it's loops. 

His heart started to race in panic about the upcoming punishment, but he couldn't move. His legs were rooted to the cold tiles of his relatives hallway, where he kneeled next to his old cupboard, shaking.

He knew he deserved the beating, that was why he couldn't move. 

In the next moment, his t-shirt was gone and the leather belt came crashing down on him, ripping open his skin. Blood started to pool down his back and he bit onto his lips to not make a sound, because he deserved this, he should finally accept it and take the punishments without crying and pitying himself.

Suddenly a protective present spread over his body, like a protective blanket, sealing his bruised back and the blood disappeared. Soothing waves washed through his body and mind and as he finally was able to move again, he saw uncle Vernon's fat form flickering and than disappearing. 

And than he was not on the cold floor anymore, he laid on something soft and the protective present continued covering him as he turned onto his side and fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

…

Harry's eyes opened and the memory of that horrible dream came back. For a moment he shuddered, but than it was overpowered by an even stronger memory, a memory of comfort and reassurance and he smiled weakly.

His depressing thoughts had not left him, the wounds Umbridge's black quill had torn into his soul were too deep. All the self-doubts, which had threatened to overpower him since his earliest childhood had finally broken free and were drowning him in an ocean of depression and self-loathing, but he at least didn't feel alone anymore, because he could still feel the presence linger in the back of his mind. 

 

It had retreated and seemed otherwise occupied, but it was not gone, it had not left him and that fact gave him the strength to sit up and stretch. His muscles were still relaxed, even though, the calming waves had stopped some times after he had fallen asleep.

 

Ron and Hermione had always been there for him as well, of course, but they had not such an intimate connection to him like the presence in his head. It could obviously feel his feelings and yesterday, it had given him, what he had needed the most: Comfort. 

 

He wondered, if the presence was a real wizard or witch, or just that, a present. Maybe, if it was more than just a presence, he could thank it some day. Yawning, he sat up and stretched, before ending the spells around his bed and getting up. 

 

Ron was for once already awake and turned as soon as he saw him from the corner of his eyes.  
“Hey mate, how was detention? She kept you really late again.”  
He didn't answer instantly. He had felt so bed to lie to his friends yesterday, he wasn't sure, if he could continue like this, he knew, they deserved more trust. But he just couldn't. He could not tell them how pathetic he was, what a looser, a freak. It was too humiliating. So in the end, he bit down on his bottom lip in guild, before making an annoyed, but not pained face and saying more lightly than he felt: “She only let me go at half past three in the morning. I swear, I miss detention with Snape, he at least sends you back to your dorm before curfew.”

 

“Don't you want to talk with Dumbledore about her?” Ron asked with a frown.  
Harry shook his head, Albus had already enough problems with her and the Ministry, he didn't need to add something to that pile. “Better not. It only will get worse, if Fudge or some other crazy Ministry official starts to interfere as well.”

 

“You could be right. Fred and George really need to prank her soon,” his friend grumbled and grabbed his toiletries, before leaving the dorm.  
Harry turned to his trunk and pulled out a new set of school robes. The one he had slept in were utterly rumpled and didn't smelled fresh anymore. He quickly stripped and changed, before following Ron.

 

Twenty minutes later he, Ron and Hermione were entering the Great Hall. When they passed the Ravenclaw house table, he could hear the students speaking about the Triwizard Tournament. Since Umbridge's announcement, there seemed to be no other topic anymore. Someone had apparently found out, that Durmstrang was an all-boys school and Beauxbaton a school only for girls, so girls and boys alike were thrilled. Bets were going, if Hogwarts or Durmstrang would have the cuter boys, other were betting on the Hogwarts champion. 

 

“I heard, that the school is in Russia and that they are all very tall and well-build,” a blond girl, which looked like a sixth year, giggled.  
Harry shook his head in disbelieve, not understanding, how girls could like to talk about such things, but at least, it took the main attention from him. Hopefully, they were to distracted to notice his gloomy mood. He didn't know, if he could deal with the whole school noticing, that he was depressed. They would start to ask questions and maybe someone would find out somehow then, that their hero could not even defend himself against his muggle relatives.

 

His throat closed up again and he swallowed dryly. He couldn't allow them to find out. Quickly, he straightened his shoulders, to seem less suspicious, more like he usual was. He needed to be strong, or at least pretend to be strong for them, because they would need hi as their savior, as soon as the truth about Voldemort came out. And he needed to pretend for himself as well, because otherwise his friends would notice and they would draw conclusion and than he would once again get those pitying looks and he could not deal with those looks.

 

Suddenly, another Ravenclaw girl said next to him:  
“...I still believe it will be Harry. He is a hero after all and he always ends up in special situations.”  
He stiffened. Did they really believe that?  
Hermione snorted dryly, pulling him from his shock, muttering: „Special... let's take her down to the Chamber of secrets next time and look, how she will call your involuntary adventures afterwards.“ 

 

She quickened her pace, visibly annoyed and Harry hurried to follow her to their house table, where the conversation were not in the least bit better.

 

“...maybe, when we are already at it, we could smuggle his name in as well. Many people are betting on him...” Fred whispered rather loudly into his twin-brothers ear.  
“Whose name do you want to smuggle into the cup?” Ron asked curiously and the twins flinched.

 

Harry didn't payed their conversation not much attention as he sat down, he just wanted to be left alone this morning and have a quiet breakfast. But than, the twins eyes flickered over to him, apparently wordlessly answering their brothers question, and he groaned in annoyance. He threw them a glare. If the other students gossiped about him, or made crazy plans in their heads, that was one thing, but the twins were good friends and they knew, how he hated all the attention he already got. Besides, he didn't believe, that the other students would be able to somehow smuggle his name into the goblet, with the twins it was a whole different story. Even though they always had bad marks, they were still very intelligent. The magic behind their pranks was proof of it.

 

“I warn you guys, if you really do that, and I end up fighting a dragon, or a huge Agrumantula, than it will be your heads.”  
Fred and George only snickered, but Hermione, who had finally caught up to the conversation after pulling out her time table from her bag, shrieked: “You want to go against Dumbledores rules?”

 

“Don't look so scandalous,” George waved her off.  
“Many students dream about smuggling their names into that goblet, we are only the ones who have a solid plan how to actually do it. We broke into more locked rooms and undid more student-traps from Filch and Snape than anybody else, so we have a fair chance,” Fred added in way of explanation.

 

That was exactly what Harry feared. Suddenly an image of the twins pranking a dragon until the beast gave up, popped up in his mind and he started snickering. His friends gave him an odd look, not knowing, what was amusing him so much.  
“What's so funny?” Ron asked.  
“Just imagining, how the twins would solve the challenges,” he answered.  
Ron looked confused for a moment, but than a wide grin spread over his face. “I want to see that,” his friend said.

 

“They wouldn't succeed,” Hermione suddenly said sternly.  
“Why wouldn't we?” George asked, sounding offended.  
“Because,” Hermione explained “Dumbledore will surely see to it, that no underaged student will get into this dangerous tournament and he is neither Filch, nor Snape.”

 

Hermione was probably right, Harry thought, but carefully stayed silent and out of the argument that started now between the three. Instead he grabbed for a bowl with bread rolls and simply listened to their bickering.

 

“Well, we tricked Dumbledore once before,” George said proudly and narrowed his eyes at Hermione.  
“Do you mean, when you spelled all his robes pink?” Hermione asked. “I bet he knew, but found it funny himself, although, I don't understand, how such a wise wizard can still have the humor of an 3 years old.”

 

“Dumbledore is just brilliant,” Fred shot back. “I bat he was the very first Marauder. Have you ever seen the twinkle in his eyes when he watches one of our pranks?” 

 

Harry knew what Fred meant, he had seen that twinkle in Dumbeldore's eyes often enough during the summer. He also knew, that there really was nothing the man didn't know about, the portraits and wards told him practically everything, that was going on in the castle. But that was, what made him such a good headmaster; he understood his students and could differ between harmless pranks and humiliating bullying.

 

“Harry, could you give me that plate with Muffins?” Hermione suddenly asked to his left.  
Nodding he stretched his left arm out to reach for the plate, when Hermione gasped.  
“Harry, whats that?”

 

Harry frowned, he had no clue what she meant.  
“Your hand, Harry, what happened to it? It's all red,” she said, pointing to his left hand.  
His eyes widened in realization and panic and he quickly his his hand beneath the table top.  
“It's nothing, I just bumped it,” he quickly said and glanced down to said hand. It was indeed red and looked rather raw. A cold shiver went down his spine at the sight of the evidence of his humiliation and in that moment he finally realized, what she meant by until it has sunken in. 

 

His stomach churned and nausea rose inside of him. And he had the feeling, as if something wrapped itself around his throat, making it hard to breath. His head swam and he knew, he should better stand up and ran to the next toilette, but he also knew, that he would never make it there in time; the nausea was too strong and his vision started to blur as lesser and lesser air got into his lungs. 

 

He clenched his right hand over his heart into a fist. How he hated all this, this feeling of weakness, of being worthless and than the present in his mind was back with full forth and calming waves once again flooded through his body. They were not as strong as they had been the evening before, but the nausea slowly started to subside.  
How was it, that he felt so connected to that being? He did not know who or what that present in his mind was, so how was it, that a simple touch from it helped him more than an embrace from his friends?

His breathing slowed down and event out until he could breath again and focus back on his surrounding. He tried to to think thank you, with all his heart, hoping that somehow, the being inside of him would feel it, before finally looking up again.

 

Hermione was looking worriedly at him and a careful hand settled onto his shoulder. “Harry, is everything all right? Was it really just an accident or did someone hurt you again?”  
And there was the pity in her eyes again and he just had to shake his head, because he didn't want his friends to look at him like this. “It's really fine, I was just clumsy. You know me,” he smiled weakly.  
“And why were you so shocked right now?” Hermione didn't look convinced by his story.  
“Because, it must have happened yesterday. I was so annoyed with Umbridge after I got back at half past three, I just... can't believed that I was so annoyed, that I didn't realized how badly I have hit my hand...” He knew his word sounded weak and Hermione's narrowed eyes only confirmed it, but she nodded once, accepting his lie for now, but she surely would come back to the matter at some point.

 

“Half past three?” The twins exclaimed in unison.  
“Yeah,” Harry affirmed, averting his eyes, but he looked up again, when he heared George asked in a serious voice:  
“Gred?”   
“Yes Forge?” Fred turned his face to his brother with an equal serious tone of voice, his eyes unusual hard.  
“I think we have to be somewhere right now,” his brother answered, an evil grin stretching over his lips and a maraudish gleam in his eyes.  
Fred stood up. “I think you are right, my dear brother.”

 

“Sorry guys,” the two said, once again in unison “but we have to go now. Have fun in DADA.” They gave Harry a very obvious wink and not even Hermione said something as they disappeared out of the great hall.

 

Harry stared for a moment at the closed doors, where the twins had just disappeared through, wondering, what they were planning.  
“Well, we should go now, or Umbridge will take even more points from Gryffindor,” Hermione's voice pulled him back to the present.  
“Yeah, we should,” Harry sighed heavily.  
“What do you think they will do?” Ron asked in an curious whisper.  
Harry only shrugged, he was curious.  
“I only hope, they will make it so, that she can't blame Harry,” Hermione mused.

 

“You know, Mione,” Ron said in awe “you are very relaxed about my brothers planning to break the rules.”  
Hermione huffed: “Even I can see, that she doesn't deserve better.”

They exited the Great Hall and went up to their DADA classroom. When they arrived, they saw the twins being dragged out of the room at their ears by a rather angry looking Filch.  
“We will enjoy this detention,” Fred laughed in passing.

 

Harry raised his eyebrows, feeling very curious. “What have you done?” He asked.  
“Oh, you know, we always knew she was a big fan of yours,” George only winked and than they were pulled around the corner.

 

“Come on, I wand to see what they did,” Ron said eagerly and Harry quickly followed him into their classroom. He tried to look as innocent as possible, but it was hard wit the giddiness he felt. He wanted to see what the twins did, when their grin was anything to go by, Umbridge was in for a lot of humiliation. Hermione was close behind him as well, curiosity practically radiating from the witch. His eyes landed on Umbridge and suddenly, innocent looking became a very hard task.

 

Umbridge stood glaring in front of her desk, her short wand pointed at her pink costume, which wasn't pink anymore. It was a bright, fiery Gryffindor-red with golden lions all over, and on her chest were huge, golden letters announcing: “I love Harry Potter.”

 

Umbridge obviously tried to turn her cardigan and skirt back to normal, but without success.   
This was too brilliant. Harry wanted to race after the twins and hug them. He forced the grin, that was threatening to spread over his face down and gave his friends a look, that said everything he could not voice out loud right now. 

Hermione motioned over to their desk and they quickly sat down, while his fellow Gryffindors slowly piled in. Each one of them froze at the door, stared at Umbridge for a few seconds, before grinning and going over to their seats.

“I already wondered, why Fred and George let themselves being caught,” Ron whispered silently. “But seeing her blouse, its obvious.”  
“I really have to thank them,” Harry whispered back and finally gave in to the urge to grin, seeing that Umbridge was still very occupied with her clothing. 

 

Finally Umbridge found a spell that returned her things back to their usual pink color and straightened. She forced her face into a smile, which looked not as sweet as usual and said through clenched teeth: “Good morning, class.”  
“Good morni...” in that moment all her clothes returned to red and gold and a picture of Harry's face appeared on her stomach, which hadn't been there before.

 

The whole class burst into loud laughter and Harry had to whipe tears from his eyes, he was laughing so hard. Next to him, Ron nearly fell from his seat and Seamus banged his right fist onto his table top in utter mirth.

 

Umbridge looked for a moment confused, than her little toad eyes landed on her blouse and she pulled her wand out again, repeating the spell she had used earlier, but her clothes didn't stay pink for long and a second picture of Harrys face appeared on the cardigan, this time on her left sleeve. 

 

The laughters grew even louder and she snapped: “Turn to chapter four!”  
“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” the class around Harry answered mockingly obedient and they all bend down to retrieve their textbooks.

 

Harry opened his book on page 35 and lifted it in front of his face, but didn't start reading, instead, he glanced over the top and watched Umbridge, who was still struggling with her cardigan. By now, two more pictures of him decorated her clothes. A miniature of him on a broom circled around her skirt and another picture was happily waving at the class.

 

“Do you think she will ever realize, that she only will add more pictures of you to her blouse when she continues to counter the spell?” Ron asked.  
“I don't think so,” Harry retorted.  
“Of course not, to notice something like this, you at least need some brains,” Hermione snorted nastily to his left and Dean, who had heard their conversation, snorted loudly.

 

“Twenty points from Gryffindor!” Umbridge snapped and they all quickly looked down onto their boring textbooks again, but only for a minute, or so, before all their eyes returned to their unpopular Professor.  
Harry also used the boring lesson to check on his new companion, but it still seemed rather occupied, so he quickly returned to watching Umbridge.

 

When the class was finally over after two hours, Harry had not read a single word from chapter four and he believed, neither had his class mates, not even Hermione had done anything else than watching Umbridge add more and more pictures of him to her clothes.

 

Seeing all his house mates being so happy over the predicament of his newest tormentor had lifted his spirit immensely and he actually left the room with a still small and weak, but honest smile.

 

The rest of his classes went by without anything worth mentioning and his spirit lifted further. The present in his head was a reassuring present, even though it obviously was distracted somehow. Maybe it really was a wizard or witch and was currently sitting in his or her own classes, like he himself. He honestly hoped so, because than he could maybe meet the person, who was helping him so much, one day and thank it properly.

 

“What is our next class?” He asked Hermione as they climbed up the staircase.   
“Transfigurations,” she answered. “Really Harry, you should memorize your time-table.”  
“Yeah I know,” he answered with a grin, but he didn't actually plan on doing so, knowing that he would have it memorized in one or two more weeks automatically. 

 

A group of Slytherins was already waiting in front of Professor McGonagall's classroom. They talked silently, but as soon as he and his friends came into view, Melfoy looked up with a smug grin.  
“Enjoying your last day of school before going to Azkaban, Potty? I heard they were interrogating you. Hadn't thought that you had it in you to kill a person,” the blond asked with a smug grin.  
Harry gritted his teeth. One day, he would punch that grin off Malfoy's face, but not in front of McGonagall's classroom. “I was not the one. And with the Dark Mark I think it is clear, that it was a Death Eater. Maybe they should look for a ferret and his father?”

 

Malfoy grew red from head to tore and Harry couldn't suppress his own smug grin.  
“Be careful what you say, scar-head, but than again, it will make no difference, you are already as good as dead.”  
“Oi, Malfoy, are you threatening him?” Ron asked, stepping in front of Harry.  
“No, only stating a fact,” The blond boy fixed his eyes back on Harry again and than asked: “Do you think you are the only one with sources? Your time is up and you and your beloved daddy know it. What a pity that no one want's to listen to you.” 

 

Harry lunged forwards, it was bad enough that Malfoy always insulted him, but he would not let the ferret insult the man, who had done so much in the past weeks for him. His enraged jump was stopped by someone grabbing his robe n the last moment. Turning around, he saw that it was Hermione, who had stopped him.   
“Let me go, he deserves a good punch,” he glared at her.  
“He does,” Hermione agreed soothingly. “But Harry, not here, not now. You will only get in more trouble and Malfoy and his family will get what they deserve some day. They can not hide their true alliance forever.”

 

He wanted to protest, but in that moment the classroom door opened and McGonagall stepped out with a stern look. “Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter?”   
Harry quickly shook his head, so did Malfoy.  
“I thought so,” McGonagall said and stepped to the side to let them in.

 

Harry followed his friends to their seats and started to pull quill, ink, parchment and his textbook from his bag.   
McGonagall still looked very stern when she stepped to the front and started her lesson.  
“Today you will start to transfigure feathers into chickens. As you know, to use an object, that holds some properties of the being you plan to transforming it into, will make the spell easier. Later you will, of course, not have this luxury.”   
McGonagall flicked her wand and a white feather appeared in front of everyone.   
Harry took his feathers and was reminded of his first year, where he had learned wingardium leviosa on a similar feather.  
“Homework will be a 3 feet long essay about the difficulties of transfiguring lifeless objects into living beings. You can start now.”

 

sighing, Harry laid the feather back down again. He had the feeling, that this would not be an easy spell. He drew a 8 with his wand in the air, before pointing it at the feather and said “creato,” but nothing happened.  
“You have to pronounce the a in creato more,” Hermione adviced him, and pointed her own wand at the feather, which instantly transformed into an chicken, although, it was still half naked. 

 

Ron looked over to them and frowned at Hermione's chicken. “How can you do this spell so easily? It is bloody complicated.” The red-head asked.  
Hermione shrugged: “You only have to concentrate enough. Try to picture a living chicken in front of you, than it is easier.”

 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, but he felt utterly stupid to imagine a chicken in front of his inner eyes. He repeated the spell and as he opened his eyes again, he had a whole bundle of smaller feathers in front of him, probably enough to cover a whole chicken, but the actual animal was still missing.

 

When it was time to bring his result to Professor McGonagall, Harry finally had managed to transform his feather into a chicken, but it was still not living. His head of house looked down at the dead animal, wrinkled her nose and cast a preserving spell over it, probably to keep it from decaying and than said: “Mr. Potter, the first Quidditch practice is scheduled for Sunday at eleven. I hope the time is convenient?”  
Harry quickly nodded. “Sunday is good, Professor.”  
“Good, than I can expect the same results as last year?” McGonagall asked and a small smirk appeared on her lips, making him grin widely.  
“Of course, we will kick...”  
“Mr. Potter, do not say the a word,” his head of house interrupted him sternly and than added: “But do defeat them, thoroughly.”  
“We will.” 

 

He returned to his friends, grin still in place.  
“Did she praise you for your dead chicken, or why are you grinning?” Ron asked with an irritated look.  
“No, of course not, she cast a preserving spell on it.”  
“So, what is it than?”   
“Quidditch starts on Sunday,” he answered.  
“That's great, mate,” Ron said and patted his shoulder.

 

“Let's go to lunch,” Hermione said and they made their way down to the Great Hall, where students were already eating.  
Harry sat down between Hermione and Ginny, who was talking with Dean and didn't seem to notice him.  
“Since when are Dean and Ginny friends?” Harry asked Ron, grabbing the next bowl with fried potatoes.   
Ron wrinkled his nose and Harry got the feeling, that he just had asked his friend the wrong hing.

 

“They are not friends,” Ron said with a frown and a glare at Dean.  
“Oh,” Harry said, not knowing what else to say, or why Ron was so upset about his sister having a boyfriend. Many people in their or Ginny's year had already a boy- or girlfriend, they all were teenagers after all. Of course, he was, as usual, an exception, having had no interest in girls once so ever until know. If he had to be honest, he had to admit, that he had not even experienced any of the things, a boy his age normally went through. No crush, no wet dreams and certainly no physical reactions to girls, even though he could clearly differ between a beautiful girl and a girl, who's looks were not that special.  
Sometimes it worried him, but than he thought, that it was only logical with all the things that usually occupied his mind, they just left no room for crushes. 

 

Hermione's voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “Oh really, Ron. Can't you be happy for your sister?”  
“But Mione, she is too young to have a boyfriend!” Ron protested.  
“She is not. You are only against it, because you have no girlfriend,” Hermione huffed and filled her plate with vegetables.   
Harry lifted his goblet with pumpkin juice in front of his face, to hide his grin. He had never paid attention to Ron in this way, but he could imagine his friend being interested in girls already and being passed by his little sister had to feel humiliating in some way.

 

Ginny must have heard her name, because she finally looked around and to Harrys confusion she smiled brightly and turned to him as soon as her eyes landed on him.  
“Hey Harry, how were classes so far?”  
Harry could see Dean frown in the background and he cringed inwardly. Dean looked rightly pissed for being dropped so suddenly for another boy.   
“Classes were fine, so far,” he answered, feeling very uncomfortable and quickly turned his attention to Hermione, asking her: “Can you give me the plate with the sausages?” 

 

Unfortunately, ginny didn't seem to get his very obvious massage and asked: “Harry, do your team hold tryouts this year? I thought I could join as a chaser.”  
“I don't know, you should ask Oliver,” he answered and quickly turned back to Hermione, who by now watched them with one eyebrow raised. He was just about to ask his bushy-haired friend something, anything to get Ginny to pay attention to her clearly seething boyfriend again, when she asked: “Do you think I will make a good chaser, Harry?”

 

Frowning, he turned back around: “Er, I don't know...”  
“But you will keep your fingers crossed for me?” Ginny asked with an innocent smile.  
“Sure,” Harry said, throwing his friends a desperate look.  
Hermione luckily got the hint and asked him: “Harry, did you still want my help with the creato-spell later? I think we should have enough time before you have to go to Umbridge again.”

 

“The creato-spell?” Ron frowned, not having caught on to the situation. “But Harry never asked you for...ouch!” Ron glared at Hermione, rubbing his right foot. “Why did you do that, Mione?”  
Harry only could roll his eyes, his red-headed friend could sometimes be even more thick- headed than he himself.  
“Well, Harry?” Hermione asked, bringing the conversation back to her question.  
“That would be great, Mione. The spell really is difficult...” he quickly answered with a thankful smile and finally started eating.

 

During his short conversation with his friend, Dean luckily had pulled Ginny in a new conversation of their own. After glancing to his right to make sure that Ron's sister was distracted, he leaned closer to Hermione and asked in a whisper: “What was that all about? Did she not notice that Dean was getting angry?”  
Hermione gave a long sigh: “I think she did know that very well, but...” the girl stopped and chewed on her bottom lip.  
“But?” Harry prompted and after another sigh Hermione said: “Harry, she always had a crush on you. I don't think, that she suddenly got over it.”

 

Frowning again, he glanced over to Ginny again, who looked slightly annoyed, now.   
“But why is she dating Dean, then?” he asked.  
“Honestly, Harry. Can you not figure it out?” Hermione sounded honestly desperate now, but he had never been good in understanding girls. He probably only got along with Hermione so well, because she really wasn't like a typical girl.

 

“She wants to make you jealous with Dean!” Hermione finally hissed, after Harry had looked at her stupidly for another few seconds.  
“What!” He exclaimed, utterly shocked. “But I am not interested in...” he stopped himself before saying girls and instead quickly said “...relationships! And she is Ron's sister, I never could...” he broke of again and Hermione patted his back comfortingly.  
“I know,” the witch said. “And really, to use one of your friends is... weak.”

 

“What are you whispering about?” Ron, who had not been able to hear their conversation, suddenly asked.  
“Just girl's stuff,” Hermione said quickly with a bright smile, making Ron look slightly green.  
“You talk with Harry about girl's stuff?”  
“Well, he does understand some problems better than you. He is more empathic, Ron.”  
Harry could feel a blush creeping up his neck, couldn't she have told Ron something else? Something less embarrassing for a boy?

 

Getting slowly desperate over the way the lunch was turning out, he threw a look at his watch and said: “We should get going, Ron.”  
“Yeah right, we have Divinations next,” Ron sighed and stood up.  
“I will wait for you in the library,” Hermione said and waved them goodbye.

 

Harry hastily followed Ron, before Ginny could hold him back and five minutes later they climbed up the ladder to Professor Trelawney's smoky classroom.  
“How many deja-vus do you have?” Ron asked as they sat down on two colorful pillows as far away from the front as possible.  
“Only one,” Harry answered, opening his own notebook.   
“I have two, but really, this deja-vu diary is even more stupid than the dream diary,” Ron muttered, but went silent, when Trelawney floated in, her huge, round glasses reflecting the light of the few floating candles.

 

“Good afternoon, my dear students. Today we will examine your recent deja-vu experiences and with their help, we will find out, what the future has planned for each of you,” she said with her dreamy voice.  
Harry had to suppress an annoyed groan, when she instantly turned to look at him and asked: “Mr. Potter, would you like to start?”  
Next to him Ron snorted dryly.  
Looking down on the deja-vu he had written down he started: “Um, When I was in Hogsmeade during the holidays, I saw this girl and somehow, she seemed familiar, as if I have seen her before, but I am sure I haven't...”

 

“Ah, a very common deja-vu and certainly none, which is hard to interpret,” Trelwany sing-sanged.  
“Really?” Harry asked, faking interest.  
“Yes, Mr. Potter. You will soon find out, that the girl is in fact your soul mate. You probably have bonded to her in your past life, that is why you recognized her. But sadly, doom is hanging over you and this love will not end well, because she will be after your blood one day.”  
Harry could only blink owlishly at his Professor, wondering, how many times she planned to foresee his death. Luckily she turned to Ron than and left him in peace once more.

 

“Mr. Weasley, please tell the class one of your experiences.”  
Ron cleared his throat and Harry watched with amusement as his friend told her: “When I was at home during summer, I went to the field behind our house one day and I found a wild Kneezel. Normally I just ignore them, because Kneezels are really boring pets, but this one looked at me with such big eyes and I suddenly had the feeling, as if I hve seen those eyes before, only in a different face. So I took it back home and now it is living with my family.”

 

“A Kneezel?” Harry mouthed with a grin and Ron grew beat red, but before his friend could retort something, Trelawney said:  
“Another case of tragic love. This Kneezel was on one point your girlfriend, maybe even your wife, in one of your past lives. But she killed you out of unfounded jealousy, that is why she was reborn as a Kneezel and not a witch or wizard.”

 

Now Harry really couldn't hold back his snort anymore, but luckily it was drowned out by the dreamy sigh of Parvati and Lavender.

 

The rest of the class dragged on slowly. Every single student had to read out his or her diary and Trelawney continued to interpret them. When she finally dismissed them, Harry had nearly fallen asleep.

 

“When everybody, who is supposed to die, really would die,” Ron grumbled on their way to the library “than we would soon have no wizards and witches in Britain anymore.”  
“Probably not,” Harry agreed and looked around for Hermione. He found her at their usual table in the back of the library, already writing one of their essays down.  
“How was Divinations?” She asked politely and without looking up from her notes.  
“I will be killed by my soul mate and in his previous life, Ron was killed by his wife in his,” he told her, flopping down onto a chair.

 

“Well, that doesn't sound very new,” Hermione rolled her eyes and continued her writing.  
Harry started with his homework for Transfigurations and for the next two hours he worked diligently and concentratedly, but like the day before, he grew nervous around 4 o'clock, as the time where he had to leave for another detention ticked nearer. He could not believe, that this would only be his third detention and that he had four more to go after this evening. 

 

His hands started to shake and his already messy handwriting grew even worse. He just had decided to stop writing for now, because he could not hand in an essay looking like this, when something touched his mind and he immediately calmed a bit down.

 

The presence, who had seemed to be fairly occupied until know, was back and it was sending him reassurance and strength. Over the day, he had almost forgotten, that he would not be alone this night, but now the mental strength, he had felt this morning, was back again.

 

Sending a mental thanks to the being in his mind, Harry picked his quill up once more and finished his essay for Professor McGonagall. The presence stayed in his mind, as if watching him.  
But when it was 5 to 5 and he grabbed his school back from the floor, it was like a trigger and the nervousness returned full force. Ignoring his fear for the moment, he turned to his friends and announced “I will go than, see you tomorrow.”

 

Ron nodded, but Hermione pursed her lips and said in that tone of voice she always used when she was particular discontented with him or Ron: “I really think you should talk to your father about your detention, she keeps you too long.”  
Sighing, Harry repeated his words from this morning: “I know, but Albus really has enough on his mind already.”   
Hermione sighed as well, but nodded in understanding, so he finally turned around to leave for detention, but Ron stopped him again, before he could go very far:  
“Hey mate, do you want me to bring you something from dinner and put it on your nightstand? You haven't had dinner for two days.”  
Harry smiled at him, he really had great friends. “Thanks, that would be great,” he answered and than added with a sigh. “I really must go now, or I will be too late.   
“Yeah, you better go, before she keeps you until your first lesson on Friday,” Ron grumbled.

 

He made his way to the third floor, trying to push the nervousness that had grown stronger again away, which was now coiling in his stomach like a wild animal. The presence in his mind seemed even more attentive now as well, as if it also had realized, that the time came nearer, where Harry had suffered through immense pain in the last two days.

 

Though, the presence didn't seem very worried and it helped. It also send once again soft waves through his body, but this time, they felt like a promise of support and Harry finally succeeded in calming down again. Regardless of how long Umbridge would force him to tore his own hand open this night, he would not have to suffer through this on his own, he would not be alone.

 

He turned around the last corner and nearly choked at the side of Umbridge's office door, which was now as pink as the rest of her office. He sneered at the door, before knocking.  
“Come in, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge voice sounded sweetly from the inside.

 

Umbridge sat behind her desk, like usual and she had changed into an new cardigan, which was not red and gold. He wanted to ask, if the Weasley twins spell had worn off, but he didn't dare. He could just ask Fred and George when he saw them next time.

 

Harry didn't wait for Umbridge to point at the small table and simply went over and sat down. The black quill was waiting again, but that was hardly a surprise, Umbridge message had, after all, not yet sunken in. Taking the quill once more without hesitation, he reminded himself, that he would stand by his words, he would not break down in front of her. So he lowered the sharp tip of the quill onto the parchment and started writing. For a split second he felt that well-known pain, but than it was suddenly gone, even though he was still writing, scribbling blood red words onto the paper.

 

Not daring to stop in his task, he tried to wrap his mind around what could have stopped the pain, while still writing. And than he felt it. The presence was not longer in his mind, but seemed to have wandered down to his left hand. He glanced over to Umbridge, who was reading some letters and than looked quickly down onto his hand, which laid beneath the table onto his left thigh. His breath stopped. There, curled around his hand was something that looked like a black serpent. It pulsed protectively like it always did, but it seemed stronger now, not only like a mere presence in his mind, but as if it was made out of magic and as far as he could see, it had no eyes, but his forked tongue was flickering out, tasting the air, like a real snake would do.

 

Harry blinked in confusion. The fact that it had taken the form of a snake made him feel a little uncomfortable, but the magic didn't feel evil, it felt rather nice instead, like warm water running over his skin, soft, despite the scales. It moved a little and he could see, that his skin beneath it was not opened, it wasn't even red anymore. But where came the blood from he was writing with? It still had to be his somehow. What had the being done? He really got more and more curious about his companion with each day, it was a shame, that he could not talk to him or her.

 

“Potter, I hope you are still writing your lines?”  
Harry startled at Umbridge's voice and quickly concentrated back on his lines, he could think about his savior later.

 

He wrote for five hours until Umbridge said: “Come here, Mr. Potter. I believe we can finish earlier today, my words finally had started to sink in yesterday after all.”

Panic rose in his chest as he looked down onto the serpent, that was still around his hand. Umbridge couldn't see it, or he would be in real trouble,   
“Please, hide. You have to hide,” he thought desperately and in the next moment the snake had disappeared.

 

“Well, Mr. Potter, what are you waiting for?” Umbridge piped and Harry rose to his feet and went over. As soon as he had reached her desk, she grabbed his left hand and yanked it forwards, an eager gleam in her eyes, but the expression fell as soon as her eyes landed on the back of his unmarked hand.  
“I think, you have to stay for a little longer,” she said, her voice not very sweet anymore and her eyes had narrowed. “And take this one.”

 

Harry looked down at the quill she was holding out to him. This one was red, but as sharp as the other one. He simply nodded, knowing that a new quill would make no difference and went back to his desk, thinking: “You can return now.” The snake instantly reappeared and happiness flooded his whole system. He was so thankful to his new friend.

 

After half an hour, Umbridge called him again, only to find his hand as unmarked as before. With a glare, she retrieved his quills to test them herself, only to find out, that they were indeed still working as they should. Harry wanted to snicker at her paint expression, as first the black and than the red quill cut into her hand, but he held himself back. 

 

Umbridge than proceeded to cast a number of revealing spells on him, but even before she had cast the first spell, his friend had hid in the far back of his mind, staying undetected.

 

Umbridge send him back to work again, clearly displeased. Harry was sure she wanted to accuse him of something, but for that, she needed to find anything first, that much his father had taught her and even she was apparently not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

 

For the next hours Harry wrote again. After every two or three hours Umbridge would call him over, each time with the same result.   
At around two in the morning, Umbridge suddenly stood up and announced sweetly: “I will be gone for a little while, Mr. Potter. As a Professor and the Minister of Education, I can not look after ill-mannered students all the time.”  
Harry merely nodded, before he concentrated back on his parchment. He would back the whole content of his trust vault at Gringotts that she would simply take a nap. He sneered at the quill in front of him. Umbridge had not even the guts to see her own detention through, even though it was her, who had handed them out herself. He really hated Snape, but at least the man would never do something like this.

 

“Do not stop writing, or I will now. There is a spell on the quill,” she laughed lightly, before scurrying out of her office.  
Sighing, Harry continued with his task, even though he wanted to do nothing more than to just break the damn quill and go to bed, but he wouldn't risk it in case there really was a spell on the bloody thing. Last year, he wouldn't have cared, but now he had a guardian, a father and he would not pay Dumbledore back by making even more problems for him.

 

The office was strangely silent, even the ugly kittens were asleep. For a moment he let his eyes wander through the office and sneered. The woman really had no taste, even he could see that, no wonder that the aurors had flinched, but it was at least slightly more bearable without it's owner around. 

 

The snake around his hand continued to be a comforting presence as the hours ticked by. At around four in the morning, Harry started to wish, he and Ron hadn't joked about Umbridge keeping him until his first class on Friday, because it seemed much more realistic by now, as tiredness creeped up on him.

 

He laid his quill down for a few minutes, his right hand hurt as much as his left hand had done the last two evenings, but his body tingled with malicious joy at the thought of the face Umbridge had made each time she had checked the spot, where her words were supposed to sink in. It had grown more and more enraged.

 

He glanced up, when he heard the sound of the office door being opened and closed again and steps neared his desk.  
“Hand,” Umbridge snapped, all honey gone from her voice.  
Harry gave her his hand, the serpent had disappeared this time without him having to think something, as if he was able to sense more from him now. Umbridge's nostrils flared and he wanted to smirk at her smugly, but, once again, he restrained himself.

 

When she didn't let his hand go after over a minute, he asked innocently: “Can I go now, or do you want me to continue, Professor?”  
Now Umbridge sneered openly at him, showing off her pointy teeth. “Continue,” she said, before going back to her table.   
As soon as Harrys hand was beneath the table again, he felt the presence wrap itself around his hand once more and he picked up his task, even though his eye lids were heavy by now and he couldn't see straight anymore. He was so unbelievably tired. 

 

At 7 AM she finally gave up and it felt like a victory, as she said: “You are dismissed for today, Mr. Potter. Your detention tomorrow will be moved to next Monday.”

 

Harry blinked tiredly at her. He would have thought, that she would be very eager to see him again after her failure in the last 14 hours. “Why?” he asked.  
“Because,” Umbridge pursed her lips “the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will arrive at half past five in the afternoon.

 

“Oh,” he retorted simply and grabbed his back, before finally leaving her office. As soon as the door clicked shot behind him, the grin finally broke loose on his face.  
“We did it!” He said to his companion in his mind and watched as the snake disappeared.

Still grinning, he strolled down the empty hallways. His entire body felt so light, it felt so good to have made Umbridge plans fail so royally. He rounded the next corner and than started laughing. First, it was only a silent chuckling, but quickly grew into a full-hearted laughter and than even into mad giggles. He felt so relieved, so liberated, so powerful somehow, it was thrilling.

 

He made his way up the stairs, still alternating between chuckling and giggling. He nearly wasn't able to get the password out and the Fat Lady gave him an accusing look, as if scolding him for having been on a party after curfew.

 

He stumbled through the portrait hole, crossed the common room, where a bunch of third years gave him looks as if he had suddenly gone crazy and than dragged his body up the stairs to his dormitory.

 

“Hey mate, don't tell me you just came back?” Ron asked when he entered.  
“She did,” Harry grinned and chuckled again.  
“And what's so funny about it?” Ron asked, giving him an similar look to the third years.  
“Because it was brilliant!” He said and pulled a new set of clothes from his trunk.  
“Why?” Ron ask.

 

Without even thinking about what he was answering, he explained: “You know, she has this awful quill, that cuts the line you write into your hand and uses your blood for ink. But this being, it wind itself around my hand and the quill couldn't hurt me this time and she was so angry, but she couldn't do anything. And than she gave me a new quill, but with the same result, because the quill wasn't broken, I simply was protected.”

 

“Yeah, mate, that really sounds interesting,” Ron said in an odd tone of voice and grabbed his hand carefully, but than tightened his hold.  
Harry looked questioningly up at him, wondering what the hell the red-had was doing.  
“What are you doing? Why do you look at me as if I have gone barmy?” He asked.  
“Er...” Ron looked very uncomfortable.“I think, we should go to see Professor McGonagall.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you really look as if you have gone bonkers!” His friend suddenly exclaimed.   
Harry wanted to protest, but Ron had pulled him to his feet with a strong tuck and was now pulling him along, out of their dorm.

 

They passed Neville and Dean, who just exited the bath, and they gave him odd looks as well and Harry just couldn't fathom why everybody was making such a fuss this morning.

 

When they reached the common room, Hermione sat with a book in an armchair by the fire, but she instantly stood up with an worried expression as soon as her eyes fell on him.  
“Harry what is wrong with you? You look like a ghost,” she said.  
He shrugged, still thinking, that the others were the ones having gone crazy and not he, he just was in a good mood, that was all. “Ron thinks that we should go to McGonagall, because I have gone off my rockers,” he explained.

 

Hermione looked over at Ron, who simply tugged at his arm again and than whispered: “If I have understand him right, she has used a blood quill on him the whole night.”  
Hermione gasped. “But that is blood magic! It's illegal!”  
“It's not only illegal, it's dangerous. Dad confiscated a whole bunch of them once. We really should bring him to McGonagall, or Dumbledore. His completely out of it, he told me something about a protective present around his hand.”  
“Oi!” Harry huffed loudly, he was starting to feel honestly insulted now.

 

Hermione gave him an alarmed look and than said: “Le's go to McGonagall, her office is just a flight below and she can fire call Dumbledore.” She took his other hand and now they both pulled him along.  
“Hey, I can go on my own!” He complained, only to nearly stumble over his own feet, he really felt rather light-headed.

 

“We know,” Hermione only replied, in a voice, as if she wanted to calm down a small kid, but didn't let him go.  
Harry glared at her as they passed more students, who all looked at him, as if he was out of his mind, although he was not even laughing anymore. 

 

When they had reached McGonagall's office, Ron knocked with his free hand and a moment later McGonagall, with her hair still loose, opened them.  
“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, how can I help you so early? I hope you haven't gotten in any trouble already?” She gave Harry a rather long look.  
“Could we maybe come in?” Hermione asked, giving him a look as well and he glared back.  
“That might be better,” McGonagall said, now looking rather worried. “Shall I better call the headmaster?”   
Harry turned his head to the red-head and glared at him, as his friend said “Yeah,” and pulled him after the Professor into the office.

 

He didn't notice McGonagall going over to her fireplace as his eyes landed on a bagpipe and he started to giggle again, somehow he found the idea of McGonagall listening to bagpipe-music funny.  
“Can you play it?” He asked and McGonagall, who just had rose from her kneeling position from in front of the hearth gave him an irritated look, before answering equally irritated: “Yes, of course I am a Scotswoman.”

“That's funny,” Harry giggled, just as the flames in his head's of house's fireplace flared green and his father stepped out of the hearth.  
“Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger,” McGonagall said. “Let Mr. Potter sit down in a chair.”

His friends nodded first, but then Ron asked: “Can you stand on your own mate?”  
“Of course I can,” he retorted huffily.  
His friends exchanged a last doubtful look, before letting go of him.  
As soon as nothing was supporting him anymore, Harrys head started to spin and his world tilted sideways. He could see Dumbledore rushing over to him from the corner of his eyes and for a moment he wondered, how a man this old could be so quick and then he felt two surprisingly strong arms catching him and he was scooped up.

 

Maybe something was wrong with him after all, Harry thought and flushed as he looked up to Albuss aged face, which was suddenly so much closer.  
“I believe, we should move this conversation to the Hospital Wing,” his father said and his friends and head of house nodded quickly.

 

The looks he got from the other students as he was carried to the Hospital Wing by Dumbledore were even worse than he had gotten when Ron and Hermione had dragged him to McGonagall's office. Hermione was scurrying in front of him and McGonagall strode with long steps next to him and his father, her robes billowing and her gray hair flying behind her, it really was a sight to see and it surely would be even better, if his head would stop swirling.

 

He was starting to feel sick and had to bite his lips too keep it down.  
“I think we should hurry,” Hermione commented, who had thrown a glance over her shoulder to look at him. “Harry looks rather green.”

 

His father picked up his speed and it only served to make him feel even worse. They finally had reached the corridor which lead to the Hospital Wing and Hermione ran ahead to open the door for them.

 

The white walls and beds greeted Harry and in the next moment he was placed down onto an hospital bed and he heard McGonagall calling for Madam Pomfrey.   
“Oh my!” the medi witch exclaimed and her concerned face appeared in his line of sight.  
“What happened?” she asked, simultaneously starting to cast diagnosis-spells on him.

 

“To be honest, I do not know myself, yet, but I think Mr. Weasley can tell us more,” Dumbledore said and Harry turned his head to look at him, even though it made his head spin even more. He tried to blink his eyes, but it didn't help.   
“He has acardioemia!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, her voice sounded even more worried, but Harry decided to not turn his head back, because a strong pounding had just started behind his temples.  
“I will get him some doses of Blood replenishing Potion and than we should try to find out what happened to the boy, he looks as if he is in shock as well,” Pomfrey said, before steps told Harry, that she had gone to get the potions. It took her only a moment to come back and Harry could see her again as she stepped next to Albus.

 

“Help him to drink this,” she ordered Dumbledore and in the next moment the man shifted and a strong arm slipped beneath his back, before helping him to sit up slightly, or rather pushing him up into a sitting position, because by now all strength seemed to have left him. A viol was pressed to his lips and he quickly shut them tight, he hated potions, they always tasted so foul and he already felt sick to his stomach.

 

“Harry, you must drink them. I believe this is even against nausea, you will feel better afterwards,” His father said softly, but with a tone to his voice that told him, that no was not an option. Slowly and begrudgingly he opened his mouth and Dumbledore poured the light yellow liquid into his mouth, it tasted bitter, but as soon as he had swallowed it, his nausea started to subside.

 

“Now the next,” Dumbledore commanded and poured two bluish potions down his throat quickly. The spinning of his head stopped, the lightheadedness ended and he was finally able to focus his vision again. He sat up a bit straighter, now needing only a bit support. Dumbledore was holding one last viol, this one with a clear liquid inside and Harry recognized it. It was probably the only potion he could recognize: A Pain-Reliever.

 

He took it from the man's hand, wanting to get rid of the pounding headache and drank it without hesitation.  
“Are you feeling better, my son?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes still holding a worried expression.  
“Yes, much better,” Harry smiled weakly.  
“Good,” his father said and than conjured four chairs next to his bed. Hermione, Ron, Madame Pomfrey and McGonagall all sat down and looked at him expectantly.  
“And now, please tell us, what happened,” Dumbledore requested softly.

 

Harry hesitated and averted his eyes to his white blanket. He knew he had already told Ron more than he probably should have, but maybe he could dismiss it as having been delusional? He really didn't want to tell anybody how weak he once again had been, how pathetic. He was about to open his mouth, when Ron said:

 

“Harry said, that Umbridge had forced him to write lines with a blood-quill and he was gone from yesterday afternoon at 5 until this morning at 7. Yesterday he was gone until half past two in the morning and the day before until half past one. He also mentioned some weired thing that protected him.”  
McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey gasped, her faces horrified, but his father only asked calmly: “Is that true Harry?”

 

Harry knew, that he could not lie anymore, not when Ron had already told them and not to Dumbledore anyway, no one could successfully lie to the man. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and than nodded hesitatingly, his gaze still fixed on his blanket. He could not look them into their eyes, he felt too ashamed. “I don't know if the thing was called a blood-quill, she never told me, but it cut open my hand and used my blood.”

 

“Albus, that is Dark Magic she used! We have to call the aurors!” McGonagall exclaimed.  
“We will, Minerva, but first let me asked a few more questions,” Dumbledore said, before turning back towards him. “Harry, did she do anything else?”

 

“No,” Harry shook his head, but he could see Ron bitting on his bottom lip, before saying: “You said something about a being that protected you...”  
Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah, your right. But I think that was more my blood-drained mind. There couldn't possibly have been some strange thing around my hand all of the sudden?” He looked up and Ron gave him a grin, say “Yeah, you're right, mate,” but neither Hermione, nor his father looked very convinced.

 

“Well than my, boy,” Dumbledore said and rose to his feet. “I suggest you stay here for the time being and get some sleep, while Minerva and I will call in the aurors. Poppy will bring you a Sleeping Draught.”   
Madame Pomfrey nodded and hurried to her office and his father turned to Ron and Hermione: “And you two have classes to attend to, Harry will be fine here.”

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. “We are too late for Transfigurations, Ron!” She exclaimed.  
McGonagall only huffed. “Seeing that your Transfigurations Professor is late either, I do not believe, that it will make any problems.”

 

Harry snorted, sometimes, Hermione's fear of being not perfect in school was oversized.  
“But we still have to grab our bags!” She said, still very agitated and grabbed Ron by his wrist before dragging him to the Hospital doors. Ron just had time to shout a “see you later, Harry,” before he was dragged off.

 

Harry blinked after his friends and shook his head, sometimes they were just unbelievable.  
“Well, Minerva, would you please go to my office and call the aurors in? And make sure that you call trustworthy ones,” Dumbledore said, pulling Harry from his thoughts about his friends.  
“Of course, Albus,” Minerva said and with a curd nod in his direction, she disappeared.

 

Madame Pomfrey returned with yet another potion and after another look at Albus, Harry downed the liquid. He really hated taking potions, but he knew, that he needed the rest. The many potions had helped a lot, but his body felt still week and he had not gotten a good night's rest in three days. His mind was already getting drowsy as Dumbledore said “I will speak to you later, my son. Sleep well.” And than, he was asleep.

 

…

 

Albus looked down on the sleeping form of his son. He was not sure if Harry realized it, but for him, the fourteen year old boy was like his own, a real son, not only a student he had adopted to free him from an abusive home. Since he had seen the eleven years old child enter the Great Hall he had felt that way, something had always drown him to the brave young hero. 

 

Minerva and Harry's friends were gone and he once again sat down beside Harry on his bed, thinking once more over what the boy had told him. He could not believe, that a teacher, a Ministry official would use dark magic on students, and sadly, his mind was telling him, that calling the aurors would not help much. 

 

Seeing the current policy of the Ministry of Magic, it was more likely, that Fudge would simply cover the incident for his former under secretary. Sure, Dolores Umbridge was his opponent in the current election, but she had probably also promised Fudge to remain in an high position, if she would win.

 

But Umbridge use of blood quills, or the election was not his main concern right now. It was, what Ronald Weasley had mentioned about the being, which worried him much more. He didn't believe, that it had been a mere hallucination due to blood loss on Harry's part. With every other student he might be inclined to believe such a simple explanation, but danger had always followed his son.

 

Standing up again, he pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it over the sleeping body, forgoing the simpler diagnostic spells Poppy had done earlier and cast a strong revealing spell that would examine Harrys body and mind.

 

The first thing he noticed, was that he suddenly could feel how strongly Harry's magic was pulsing inside the boy and he frowned. Violently pulsing magic was a normal occurrence for witches and wizards with a strong creature inheritance, who were approaching their seventeenth birthday, the age of inheritance, but not for a boy, who had just turned fourteen recently.

 

He traced his wand over his son's body, but could find no reason for the unruly magic. He would need to keep an even closer eye on his son. Sighing, Albus traced his wand upwards, until it hovered over Harry's forehead and his frown deepened. 

 

He concentrated more on the thing inside Harry's mind and his eyes widened as a sense of recognition overcame him. His first impulse was to delve into Harry's mind and drive the present away, this present, which possessed the magical signature of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, but than he stopped himself and concentrated more closely on the echo of the Dark Lord's present in his son's mind. 

 

He could feel no ill feelings or evil thoughts from the dark wizard, who had once been his student. Tom seemed not concentrated on Harry right now and at the same time he had the feeling, as if the man kept a mental eye on his son.  
Could it be possible, that Tom had not realized, whom the mind belonged to, he was obviously visiting? But what kept the wizards interest than?

 

Albus' blue eyes wandered over to the hospital window, looking at the shadowed sky and his thoughts wandered to how the Ministry was treating Harry and how the future would look like, if Dolores Umbridge succeeded Fudge as the new Minister of Magic.  
He had always been a man who believed in faith and a superior power, how could he not, being the man he was? So he ended his revealing spell and pocketed his wand again. 

 

Maybe he truly was finally getting old and barmy, he was, after all, even older than the wizarding world believed him to be, but he could not help but thinking once again, that everything happened for a reason. That did not mean, he would not look after Harry. To have the Dark Lord in one's head was never save, regardless if the wizard knew, thatt he shared a link to Harry Potters mind or not.

 

He let his eyes linger on Harry's calm face for a moment. He still looked so pale after his long and torturous night in Dolores Umbridge's office. Normally his sons skin was from a slight honey color, bronzed by the many hours outside on a broom, but not this morning. 

 

Albus smiled softly and combed through Harrys messy, dark brown hair once, before turning around and leaving the Hospital Wing. He had aurors to talk to.

 

…

 

Voldemort sighed and stood up from his throne. It was finally over and he felt more exhausted than he had ever before. His head was hurting from the hours he had poured his magic into the person at the other end of the link and his muscled ached, as if he had done some kind of physical exercise. He had needed more magic to protect the prodigy than he had thought. Much seemed to get lost due to the distance the mental link had to cover.

 

With long strides, he made his way out of his dark throne room and turned to his left, where a staircase lead to the upper levels of Riddle Manor.   
The sun was already rising outside, he had staid awake the whole night, but he would take a bath first, before deciding if he would go to bed and rest a few hours or simply take a Pepper-Up Potion. 

 

He entered his personal quarters, the last door on the right side of the hallway, crossed the small vestibule and shortly glanced over to Nagini, who laid in front of his huge fireplace. The basilisk had recovered much of her strength already, but was still tired most of the time and stayed in his quarters, resting. She looked up shortly as she heard him enter, but laid down again as soon as she noticed that he was no intruder.

 

He walked over to his walk-in closet and retrieved his green velvet-bathrobe, before leaving his bedchamber again and entering his bathroom. After hanging the bathrobe over a silver towel rail with snake heads, he filled his tube with a flick of his wand to the rim with steaming, hot water and undressed. 

 

The bath tube was mold after the one in the prefects bathroom at Hogwarts. As a student he had indulged in going there at least once a weak and after he had claimed his muggle-fathers villa and started to make it more suitable for a wizard, he had placed this one in his own bath. The only real difference was, that the taps resembled snakes.

 

He slipped into the water and it instantly soothed his aching muscles as he slid into the tube and closed his gleaming, red eyes for a moment, trying to remember, if he ever had felt like this.  
But the strain of his magic had been worth the result. A smug smirked tucked on his thin lips. He had helped the young wizard or witch and it had not only gained him his or her trust, it had also strengthened the connection between them He still did not know who the child was, because he had not given his protection the ability to see. He could have of course given the snake eyes (he had created it with his magic after all), but even the most untalented and insensitive wizard would have been able to feel his dark aura radiating from the child than and that would not do.

 

His mind wandered back to the thoughts he had shared with the prodigy. Human thoughts were an abstract thing, no one called himself by his first name in their heads, often they were not even very detailed, if the person didn't concentrate on what he was thinking actively, but it gave him more options than he had before.   
He also had gained some knowledge about the child: He or she had to be a student at Hogwarts, because shortly after he had left the child's mind, he had felt Dumbledore's magic brush the kid through the link. The old fool was once again more observant than he would liked. He would have to be more careful in the future, another reason, why he could not give his embodiment more abilities.   
He would think about installing a mental door to the link, it would stop every trace of himself in the child's mind if he needed to. He was not sure, if the old fool had been able to notice him, but he would install some more safety precautions to the connection, it would not due for the old coot to find his plans for the child out and start meddling in his business once more.

 

The other thing he had come to know in the last hours was, that some Professor at Hogwarts was torturing the students and he had a fairly good idea, who that Professor might be. Voldemort sneered at the surface of the water. He himself was no good man by any stretch of the word. He relished in power and the sounds of fearful screams. He tortured and killed like any dark wizard, but he would never torture the next generation of wizard and witches. The harm such torture could have on children was not worth the result. Torturing children could ultimatively lead to disabled adults and their world needed strong witches and wizards.

 

Of course, many would argue, many witches and wizards he killed were innocent as well, but they all had chosen a path, that lead to the downfall of their magical world, so in his eyes, they were no innocent.

 

Voldemort returned his thoughts to the prodigy child he was courting, for lack of a more suitable word. He had also yet to try, if he could talk to the student as well, it would be more tiring for him than for the child, because the child didn't had to send his thoughts miles away into someone else's mind, as long as he was the one entering the child's head, but he would try it soon. Maybe he would even be able to see through the persons eyes some day, but for him to be able to gain so much control and influence over the other body, the link needed to strengthen much more.

 

He rose from the water and stepped out of the tube, before stepping in front of the room high mirror hanging opposite from the door. His eyes wandered down his firm, gray scaled chest to his well defined abs and than lower until they landed on his flaccid member and he titled his head curiously. He had always been big, but somehow, he seemed bigger now, even inhumanly though. That definitively would hurt his next partner.

 

The devilish smirk returned to his lips. He did not often take someone to his bedroom, but if he did, he never was gentle. The fact, that his broadness alone, would give his next bed-companion pain, made a delicious shiver run down his spine and he licked his lips, before tracing his length with one single finger.

 

He took another appreciating look at his body and than grabbed his green bathrobe, tying it close. Feeling more refreshed after his bath, he summoned a viol of Pepper-up and downed it with one swallow.   
Back in his bedroom, he took a fresh, black tunic from his wardrobe and a fresh cloak as well.  
“Do you want to accompany me, my dear?” He asked Nagini, when he was dressed again.  
“No, Master, I would like to rest a bit more,” Nagini answered tiredly.  
“Very well,” he said and went once more for his library. One of his follower's had brought him a chest full of old documents and scrolls. Such presents were not unusual. Many of his more intelligent followers knew the value of those historical parchment, but weren't often not able to read and decipher them themselves.

The chest stood on the same desk were he had left it the evening before. He focused his magic on his eyes to search for any hidden spells and curses, but found none. Pleased, he lifted the lid with the upmost care and placed it next to the chest. The ability to see magic had been granted to him when his magic had decided to make him the Dark Lord in his second year of school and it was immensely useful. He shortly checked the content of the chest as well, before dissolving his magic around his eyes and picking up the many documents. Browsing through the many pieces of parchment, he quickly realized that it was a collection of an old family chronicle.  
He was about to place the documents to the side (as they did not seem to hold anything of interest for him), when a page, written in bold, red letters caught his detention. Placing the other parchments down again, he walked over to his wing-back chair and started to read:

 

Wales, 1103.

Until this day, I have not written anything down into our family's chronicle. Not because I feel inadequat with words, but because nothing worth mentioning has happened in my live until now.   
Almost a weak has past since the event, which still lefts me weak and shaky.   
I know I should not have ridden through the forrest, especially not at night, my father often enough warned me about the dangers when I was still a child, but despite better knowledge, I took my chances.  
In the beginning nothing happened. The moon sone bright that night and the path in front of me was broad and easily visible. I looked straight ahead and urged my horse toa racing pace, until I noticed the lights of a small house, nearly completely hidden by the trees to my left. T was than that I made a mistake. Curious, because in all these years I have known this forrest, I have never noticed this house, I stopped my stallion and looked over to the lights.  
Suddenly the door of the house opened and a beautiful woman stepped out. She had large, auburn hair, a slim waist and long legs, which were properly hidden beneath the long skirts of her simple dress. I instantly noticed, that she was not of my class, but her huge, blue eyes kept be captive and in the next moment she was walking towards me.   
As if she had placed a ban over me, I slid from my horse and waited until she had reached me. What then followed, is only a blur of pictures in my head:

I backed her up against the next tree and started to kiss her soft neck and cleavage. Looking back on it know, I must say that I do not believe me to be the one trapping her anymore, rather it was her who seduced me to that tree.   
Whatever the truth in this matter is, fact is that I forgot my wife and my children as I stood there in the cold autumn-forrest and pushed her skirts up. Never in my life did I feel pleasure as great as in this moment.   
But the pleasure was short lived, as I soon noticed my growing weakness. With every thrust my limbs grew heavier, but it was not until much longer that I decovered the reason through my muddled mind:  
The woman was sucking my magic out of me, but I still could not find the strength to stop the frantic coupling. Only after I had spilled myself inside her and another huge amount of my magic had left me, did she separated our bodies and the feeling vanished. But before I could demand an explanation, she had disappeared and I shamefully have to admit, that I was too cowardly to follow her to her home.  
After I had finally reached my home I fell into my bed and did not wake up for the last three days, but when I did so, I felt only slightly stronger. The next two days I spend in my library to search for the creature which had robbed me of my magic and (I fear), also of my lifeforce. I even visited a friend, but no book provided me with an answer. It was than that I decided to go to the priest of the nearby village and although he is a muggle, he is also an expectantly intelligent man for his low class. 

The priest let me into his home and listened patiently to my tale (of course I did not mentioned my magic, only a general tiredness), but I did not believe that of all people a muggle should know the answer to my questions. Reader, you might be able to comprahand my surprise, when the old man merely gave me a said smile and told me that I have been attacked by a succubi, a demon! The priest explained, that there were two kind of demons, male and female and they both used the physical act to feed on a human's life force and soul. The priest was sure that I was lucky to have escaped with my life and considering how shaky my hands are, I do not believe that his words were false. 

Since my visit in the church, I have tried to find more informations about those demons, but everything I could find were old and often dark farytals, which describe these demons as powerful demons with various powers. They were described as magically imensly powerful, some could feel the present of humans, one was even rumored to be able to feel magical signatures. They can command every element and create things just by the force of their will. They also are supposed to be immortal and also can grand this gift to every other living being. I am not in the position to say that I have found a proof for their existence, but I do not doubt it anymore. 

Albert Jonson

 

Beneath the wizard's entry there was another short note, written in an different scribt and a later date. His son had added that, although his father did not die, he neither regained his former strength back ever again.

Voldemort stared a moment longer at the scroll, before slowly placing it into his lap and an evil grin stretched his mouth. This was the key to his immortality. He did not doubt one moment that Albert Jonson assumption anything else but the truth. He had learned early on that every tale hold at least a small bit of truth. This believe had often help him to become the powerful and feared wizard he now was. Already in his youth had he researched obscure documents and many of them had turned out to be true. The most famous examples were chamber of secrets and the Deathly Hallows. 

The only question left now was how to find such a demon. He would have to deepening his research. That he would be more successful than Jonson's ancestor he did not question, he was, after all, the Dark Lord.

 

 

4\. The Delegation: 

Harry only awoke slowly and for a short moment, he was disorientated. Then the memories of the last night came back to him and he sat up quickly, before looking for his glasses. He found his round spectacles on the night stand to his left. Someone must have taken them off for him and put them there.

His thoughts wandered to his companion and sudden guilt struck him. It had protected him the whole night, had saved him from hours of pain, that surely had been exhausting, maybe even painful. Had the present only blocked his pain or somehow transferred it to itself? 

That thought made his stomach clench painfully, he would not want a friend to be hurt, only for not having to feel the pain himself. Following an impulse he quickly closed his eyes and started to listen in on himself, trying to find out how his new friend was doing. To his relieve the presence seemed very content and was, as far as he could tell, feeling well enough to be once again distracted by something. 

Harry smiled softly, a wave of gratitude overcame him. He sat silently in his hospital bed for a moment longer, until his eyes landed on a small clock hanging on the opposite wall. His eyes widened.   
“Fuck, I am coming too late!” he cursed and jumped up. It was 10 minutes to 5, in only ten minutes the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive and he wouldn't want to miss it. But where would they arrive?

Slipping into his grey and white trainers he quickly left the Hospital Wing, without even telling Madame Pomfrey.  
With Umbridge horrible detentions he had never really thought about the tournament, his mind had been too ocupide with how to get through the next night, but now, after he was finally through with them, he grew very excited. At least he hoped, that he was through with them, he would have to asked Albus.

He had never thought about the possibility of wizards and witches from other countries, but it was only logical, there had to be more magical people than only the few in Britain. Even the tournament was starting to excite him, after all, he wouldn't need to do something else than lean back and watch the three champions compete, at least he hoped so, but a small part in his mind was always doubting, always wondering, what horrible surprises his life had in store for him.

Running the steps to the Entrance Hall down, he realized, that the castle was unusual quiet. No student or Professor came across him and even the ghosts seemed to have disappeared, so he quickly ran over to the Great Hall, but the Hall was empty. Frowning, Harry looked around and tried to find out where else everybody could have gone to. There weren't many places beside the Great Hall and the grounds which could hold so many people. 

His eyes widened and he slammed his hand against his forehead, how could he have been so stupid? If guests would arrive, they would certainly not apparate into the castle, that wasn't possible after all, so they would arrive like every Hogwarts student as well. 

As soon as he had opened the entrance doors, excited chattering greeted him. There was a big crowd lined neatly in three lines in front of the castle, all facing the stony path in front of Hogwarts and the Black Lake slightly to their right.

Harry spotted his father with some Professors standing in front of the students, he could even see Mad-Eye Moody still among them, while the heads of houses were still organizing their charges.  
McGonagalls pointy wizard's head was easily visible above the smaller students and Harry made his way over to his fellow Gryffindors, searching for his friends. He found them in the very first row and quickly slipped in between them.

“You made it, mate! Thought you would sleep through the spectacle,” Ron greeted him with a grin.  
“I nearly did,” Harry replied.

 

Professor McGonagall stepped in front of them then, and snapped at Ron: “Weasley, straighten your shirt.” She than went on to Parvati, clearly unpleased with the girls's pink bow, which she had put into her hair: “Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.” 

Parvati scowled and removed the large ornamental bow from her hair.   
“She seems slightly stressed,” Harry mumbled into Ron's ear and his friend nodded. “She is like this since we came outside an hour ago. You better duck your head, mate.”   
They quickly shut their mouth, when said witch spoke up again:   
“Our guests will arrive every moment, I expect the best behavior from all of you!”  
Harry quickly joined his fellow Gryffindors in saying: “Yes, Professor,” and than searched with curious eyes the landscape in front of him. 

It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent- looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest and for the first time he realized, that autumn was slowly coming, even though, it was still very light outside, but the warm days would be over soon. 

All around him the students seemed as curious as he himself, some even more so: Dennis Creevey was positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years and his older brother Collin was fingering his camera nervously.   
“Nearly five,” said Ron, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. “How d’you reckon they’re coming? The train?”   
“I doubt it,” Hermione commented.   
Looking upinto the sky Harry suggested: “Maybe broomsticks?”  
Hermione shook her bushy head again. “I don’t think so . . . not from that far away. . . .”   
Hermione had a point there, France and Russia really didn't were very close to England.  
“A Portkey?” Ron mused. “Or they could apparate — maybe you’re allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?”   
Opening his mouth, Harry wanted to remind Ron that it wasn't possible to apparate inside of Hogwarts, when Hermione already started her usual lecture:  
“You can’t apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?” 

 

They fell silent than and once again scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quite as usual. Harry was starting to feel cold. He wished they’d hurry up. Maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance, or something, but he would rather have them simply appear in front of them and go back inside, where surely a huge feast was waiting for the newcomers. 

And then Albus finally called out from the back row, where he stood with the other teachers: “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”   
Harry looked around once more, not listening to his fellow students, who where whispering eagerly among themselves.  
“There!” yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest and he quickly looked up.   
Something large, much larger than a broomstick — or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks — was hurtling across the deep blue sky towards the castle, growing larger and larger.  
“At least Harry was right, that they would fly here,” Ron said next to him, making Hermione huff and roll her eyes.  
“What is that?” Harry asked and a bit further down the line a excited first year shrieked: “It’s a dragon!”   
“Don’t be stupid . . . it’s a flying house!” said Dennis Creevey.   
“I have to agree with Dennis,” Hermione said. “They surely will not ride on a dragon, that would be much too dangerous, you can't...” she brooke off, when they finally could recognize what was approaching them.  
“Dennis’s guess was closer,” Harry pointed out, as the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it. It was a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palomi- nos, and each the size of an elephant. 

He watched the carriage coming closer until it finally, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year’s foot, hit the ground. The horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, let the earth beneath them shaking and he quickly grabbed onto Ron, to not fall in surprise.   
A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes. 

Harry just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened.   
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps, before he sprang back respectfully. 

Harry's eyes widened, when a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerged from the inside of the carriage — a shoe the size of a child’s sled — followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman Harry had ever seen in his life. It immediately explained the size of the carriage, and of the horses.

 

Next to him Ron gasped. “By Merlin's beard, that is a large woman! I swear, Hagrid will seem small next to her!”  
Harry only could agree, this woman was gigantic. He continued to stare at her, as she stepped into the light flooding from the Entrance Hall. To his surprise, she possessed a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. Her robe was entirely made from black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers. 

 

Albus started to clap then and he and his friends, like all the other students, followed his lead. The applause was loud and excited, nothing in comparison to the few claps Umbridge had gotten after her awful speech after the welcoming feast and Harry had to grin, as he saw her pursed lips. 

 

Fixing his eyes back on the gigantic woman, Harry watched, as her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward towards Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.   
“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

 

“Maxime?” Hermione whispered. “That is fitting.”  
Ron only frowned. “Why?”   
Harry, curious for the answer as well, turned his face away from Albus and madame Maxime, who where still exchanging greetings, as if they were old acquaintances. 

 

“Because,” Hermione explained with a voice, that told him, he should already know the answer “Maxime means the huge one.”  
“Oh,” He retorted intelligently, but looked back to Dumbledore, when she hered Maximes deep voice purr: “Dumbly-dorr,I ’ope I find you well?”   
“In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore.   
“My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

 

Harry, noticed for the first time that about twenty girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what he could see of them (they were standing in Madame Maxime’s enormous shadow), staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces. 

 

“ ’As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked.   
“He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”   
“Warm up, I think,” said Madame Maxime. “But ze ’orses —”   
“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Albus with a warm smile, “the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges.” 

 

Harry exchanged a look with his two friends, asking them silently, if they had heared anything, but they only shrugged.  
“I only hope it is not a second dragon-baby,” Ron muttered darkly.  
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, looking once again back to Madame Maxime and Dumbledore.

 

“My steeds require — er — forceful ’andling,” said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “Zey are very strong. . . .”   
“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” said Dumbledore, smiling.   
“Very well,” said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. “Will you please inform zis ’Agrid zat ze ’orses drink only single-malt whiskey?”   
“It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing.   
Harry heard Hermione choking next to him at the name of the expensive alcohol.   
“Well,” he said “that explains their ruff landing. I bet I would not land better with my broom, when I would only drink whiskey.”

 

“Come,” said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps. 

 

“How big d’you reckon Durmstrang’s horses are going to be?” Seamus Finnigan said suddenly, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address him and Ron.   
“Well, if they’re any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won’t be able to handle them,” Harry mused with a look at the gigantic animals.   
“That’s if he hasn’t been attacked by one of his oh-so-harmless pets,” Hermione added dryly.  
“Don't be so mean, Mione,” Harry and Ron exclaimed simmultainiously, but the girl only retorted: “You two must admit, that it would not be surprising, with the beasts he has in his back garden. It rather is a miracle, that he is still alive.”

 

Harry couldn't really say something against that, he had thought something similar many times already, so he just fell silent and returned to watching the ground. It was getting rather cold and as the sun started to sink behind the Forbidden forrest, he started to shiver in the cold autumn-air. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime’s huge horses snorting and stamping. But then a strange noise reached his ears. It sounded strangely muffled and at the same time it was rumbling and sucking, as though an immense vacuum cleaner was moving along a riverbed

 

“Can you hear that?” He asked Ron, looking left and right, but nothing caught his eyes.   
“The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan suddenly, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!” 

 

From his position Harry had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water — except that the surface was not smooth anymore. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks — and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor.

 

What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool… and then he saw the rigging.   
“It’s a mast!” he said to Ron and Hermione, who nodded in awe.

 

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. A shiver went down Harry's spine at the ghostly sight. He watched, unable to take his eyes from the appearing ship, as it finally emerged with a great sloshing noise.   
It bobbed on the turbulent water for a moment, until it began to glide towards the bank. A few moments later, he heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. 

 

“Wow! That's amazing!” Ron said next to him, his voice full of awe, but Harry had a strange feeling in his gut. This ship seemed as dark as the carriage of Madame Maxime had seemed light and with everything that had happened in the last days, it gave him a foreboding feeling. 

 

Looking to his left, he could see an equally uneasy look on Hermione's face, but she as well, said nothing for the moment.  
People were now disembarking; he could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship’s portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle, but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. Only the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair and he as well, made Harry shiver.

 

“Do you think,” Hermione whispered into his ear “that he has a hard look in his eyes, like Snape, or Malfoy?”   
He hadn't to ask, what Hermione wanted to ask him and so he simply nodded, thinking, that he would keep an eye on that man and of his interaction with Snape. Regardless of how much Dumbledore trusted the man, to him his Potions Professor seemed like a turning cloak, one, who turned as often as it was necessary for him to survive.

Concentrating back on the headmaster of Durmstrang, Harry heard him call out:  
“Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”   
“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Albus replied.   
Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. Harry watched him reach Dumbledore and shaking Albus's hands with both of his own.   
“Dear old Hogwarts,” Karkaroff said, looking up at the castle, smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd.   
“How good it is to be here, how good... Viktor, come along, into the warmth... you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold...”   
Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows.  
Ron suddenly gasped and started to jump excitedly from one feet onto the other, exclaiming: “Harry — it’s Krum!” 

 

“Krum?” Harry said, not recognizing the name.  
“Yes, Krum! Victor Krum! He is the world's best seeker and plays for the national team of Bulgaria! He can do the Wronsky Feint like no one else- ok, maybe you can do the stunt as good as him, but that's it that! You really have to read my Quidditch magazines more often, mate.”

 

Harry searched for the seeker and found him climbing up the doorsteps to the Entrance Hall. He somehow could not imagine, Victor to be such a good player, he rather waddled like a duck, but than again, it didn't have to say anything about his flying skills. He himself was very clumsy, but graceful in the air, maybe it was the same with Victor.

 

When the Durmstrang student's were inside as well, Dumbledore pressed his wand to his throat and when he spoke, his voice was magically inhenced by the sonorus-charm.  
“Let's join our guests in the Great Hall. A feast is waiting!”  
The neat line where they all had been standing, dissolved as the first students started to rush up the front steps. Harry saw McGonagall give his pupils a dissapproving look, but Albus only smiled with twinkling eyes, like always. Harry followed behind Ron, who went ahead, mumbling all the time something like: “Krum! I can't believe my luck!”

 

When they finally entered the Great Hall, Harry saw, that a fifth table had been placed in front of the head table, where the new pupils had already gazered. Next to his Albus' golden seat stood two silver ones, equally high-backed and ornamented. Madame Maxime sat already on the left one and Karkaroff just approached the other one, whilst Dumbledore strode behind him, a bright smile on his face. 

 

He himself motioned to Hermione, to take a seat as far away as possible from Ginny, who, once again, looked over to him with a very eager expression. Hermione took the hint and quickly sat down at the far end of the table. Without looking at Ginny, Harry joined her, whilst Ron was still near the doors.  
“Do you know, what he is doing?” Harry asked with a look at their red-headed friend.  
Hermione only rolled her eyes. “I believe he is searching for a quill.”  
“Why would he ned a quill at dinner?” he asked, frowning.  
“For an autograph,” Hermione explained.

 

When Ron had finally caught up with them, he quickly sat down to Harrys right and asked: “Harry, do you have a quill? My are all upstairs in my school back.”  
Harry shook his head. “No, sorry, Ron, but mine are all upstairs as well. I wasn't even in class today, remember?”  
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, mate,” Ron said, sounding rather distracted, as he once again searched through his pockets.

 

Harry's attention was drawn back to the headtable, when a movement in the corner off his eyes told him, that Dumbledore was about to start the feast, but before the man could stand up an annoying “Hem, hem,” made him flinch in his seat.  
“Oh by Merlin!” Hermione exclaimed. “Not again, please!”

 

Unfortunately, Umbridge, once again, stood on the steps in front of the head table, her honey-sweet smile on her lips.  
“My dear guests- welcome!” She started and Harry saw Madame Maxime wrinkle her nose and turned her face towards Dumbledore, with a questioningly raised eyebrow.

 

“As the Minister of Education, I am happy to welcome you all in the name of the Britsh Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts. We all have worked hard in the last month to make this meeting possible and I am sure, that many long-lasting friendships will arise from our time together.”

 

Harry rather thought, that Madame Maxime was planning to drown the pink toad in single-mault whiskey, but Umbridge continued again, so he had no time to comment on it,  
“International friendships have always been important. Without other countries, ours can not flourish and without ours, other countries can not grow as well. Let us use this opportunity to get to know each other better, so that we will have many friends, when the time arise, where we step into the business world, to help our home country to glory.”

 

The applause Umbridge was once again getting was sporadic, but the faces in the Great Hall brightened, when they watched Dumbledore stand up next. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and — most particularly — guests,” said Albus, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”   
Harry's eyes flickered over to one of the Beauxbatons girls, who was still clutching a muffler around her head, as she gave an unmistakably derisive laugh.   
“No one’s making you stay!” Hermione whispered, bristling at her.   
“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” continued Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!” 

 

The golden plates and bowls filled in front of them and Harry, quite hungry after sleeping through breakfast and lunch, quickly grabbed a plate with chicken's legs and started eating.   
“These Beauxbatons girls are really snobbish,” commented Ron and following his friends line of sight, Harry saw another girl wrinkle her nose at the creamy gravy.   
“They are,” he answered between two bites of potatoes and turned his attention back to his food.   
“I bet Krum is not like them. He is cool! He has to be!” Ron rambled on.  
Hermione, who had just picked up a bowl of carrots sat it down with a harsh sound, clearly annoyed by the red-heads constant praising. “Oh really, Ron! He is just a Quidditch player!”  
“Just a Quidditch player! He is a god on a broom!” Ron defended his idol, but was interrupted by two snorts to their right.  
“Yeah Fred,” George laughed. “I bet our little Ronny-kins is a god on a broom as well.” George waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Harry had to quickly clasp his hands in front of his pumpkin juice filled mouth to not spill it out accidentially.   
Ron flushed beat Ret and snapped: “Shut up!”  
“Are we prejudiced? George, I fear we should not ask our dear little brother to join us this night,” Fred grin and now it was Harrys turn to blush.

 

“Fred! George!” Hermione exclaimed in shock, dropping her fork onto her plate. “How can you say something like this in the public! Here are little children!”  
“Sorry, Hermione, we forgot,” The twins said in unison, giving Harry a broad grin.  
“I am not that small!” Harry snapped, knowing that it was a blatend lie, but they didn't know that.

At that moment, a voice said behind him: “Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” Turning around, he saw that it was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore’s speech. She had finally removed her muffler and now a long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.

 

Eyeing first the bowl she had pointed at and than giving Hermione and Ron a questioning look, he reached for the dish. But when only Hermione gave him a declining answer, he turned once again back to his red-headed friend, only to see, that Ron had gone purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise. 

 

Wondering what the issue was with Ron, he once again eyed the blond girl, now a bit closer. She was beautiful, Harry supposed, but he really found her not that attractive, there was nothing that made her special or desirable in his eyes.

 

Coming to the conclusion, that his friend was to occupied with drooling, he handed the French pupil the bowl. “You can have it,” he said, wrinkling his nose at something, that looked suspiciously like slugs.  
“You ’ave finished wiz it?” she asked, now looking at Ron herself.   
“Yeah,” Ron said breathlessly. “Yeah, it was excellent.”   
Harry snorted.   
The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully to her table. 

 

Ron was still goggling the girl as though he had never seen one before. Harry started to laugh and the sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses.   
“She’s a veela!” his friend said.   
“A what?” he asked in confusion, but Hermione said tartly: “Of course she isn’t! I don’t see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!”   
Looking around, Harry saw, that Hermione was not quite right with that statement. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys’ heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron.   
“I’m telling you, that’s not a normal girl!” said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. “And there sure as hell are other blokes goggling at her!”

 

“Well,” Hermione huffed. “Harry isn't.”  
“That's because Harry is not yet interested in any girls,” Ron grinned.  
Harry felt a blush creeping up his cheeks, but refrained from arguing against it and looked back at the twins.They finally had turned back to their friend Lee Jaordan and Harry dared to continue eating, now, where Rons brothers were occupied and the girl gone again. 

 

The plates disappeared ten minutes later and the dessert appeared. He noticed a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Ron examined an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moved it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the guest's table, but he girl his friend had called a veela appeared to have eaten enough, however, and did not come over to get it.   
Ron started to inform him about all the great catches Krum had done during his career and Harry listened attentively, while Hermione looked very bored with the topic.

 

Hagrid sidled then into the Hall through a door behind the staff table 40 minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Harry, Ron, and Hermione with a very heavily bandaged hand. 

 

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now and Harry felt a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming. Several seats down from them, Fred and George were leaning forward, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration. 

 

“The moment has come,” Albus said, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket —”   
“The what?” Harry muttered to no one in particular, before listening again,   
“— just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation” — there was a smattering of polite applause — “and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch. 

 

When Harry gave Ron an irritated look, his friend leaned over and explained: “He was a famous Beater once.”  
He looked back at Bagman, who acknowledged his warm greeting with a jovial wave of his hand, but Hermione pulled his attention away once more:  
“Is that the Crouch you saw in your vision?” 

He had to search for the other wizard, who had neither stood up, nor winked, but when he finally had found the man in question, he shook his head. “No, the one I saw was much younger,” he told her.  
Hermione furrowed her brows and mumbled “strange,” before looking back to the head table herself.

 

“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts.” 

 

At the mention of the word “champions,” the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Albus had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, “The casket, then.”   
Umbridge, who must have disappeared sometimes during the speech approached Dumbledore, carrying proudly a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. She looked very pleased with herself and her smile was even sweeter than usual. Shuddering, Harry focused his eyes on the casket instead, he saw enough of that toad as it was. The casket looked extremely old. 

 

A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else’s. 

 

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” said Dumbledore as Umbridge placed the chest carefully on the table before him, now clearly unhappy, that Dumbledore did not let her come to word. Harry felt a smirk tugging at his lips, as Albus continued. 

 

“They have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways.. their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.”  
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing. 

 

“As you know, three champions compete in the tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.” 

 

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.   
Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.   
“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the this hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” Harry smiled at the mishvious gleam in the mans eyes, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.   
Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.” 

 

“An Age Line!” Fred Weasley grinned his eyes glinting, as he stepped next to Harry, who was following his friends across the Hall to the doors into the Entrance Hall.   
“Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn’t it? And once your name’s in that goblet, you’re laughing — it can’t tell whether you’re seventeen or not!” George continued.

 

“Do what you want,” Harry said. “But let me out of it.”  
“Yeah, no worry, we will,” the twins promised.  
Hermione, who had listened to their short exchange turned around. She clearly saw the whole tricking-the-goblet-thing not as easy as he himself. “But I don’t think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” she said, “we just haven’t learned enough...”   
“Speak for yourself,” said George shortly and Hermione huffed in annoyance.

 

“Where is he?” said Ron suddenly, who wasn’t listening to a word of this conversation, but looking through the crowd to see what had become of Krum. “Dumbledore didn’t say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?” 

 

But this query was answered almost instantly, when Karkaroff came by and said loudly over the leaving students: “Back to the ship, then, Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?”   
Looking around, Harry saw Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on.   
“Professor, I vood like some vine,” said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.   
“I wasn’t offering it to you, Poliakoff,” snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy —” 

 

Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, which lead outside. He crossed the staircase at the exact same time as Harry did and they bumped into each other. He quickly stopped to apologize and to let the man and his pupil go on first. 

 

“Thank you,” said Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at him and then the man froze. Harry watched in confusion, as Karkaroff turned his head back to him and stared at him as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt too. Karkaroff’s eyes moved slowly up Harry’s face and fixed upon his scar. By now the Durmstrang students were staring curiously at him as well and Harry started to feel distingtly uncomfortable, with those cold eyes fixed on him.. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see comprehension dawn on a few of the foreign student's faces. The boy with food all down his front nudged someone next to him and pointed openly at Harry’s forehead. 

 

“Yes, that’s Harry Potter,” growled suddenly a rough voice from behind them.   
Harry spun around, so did Karkaroff and they came face to face with Made-Eye Moody. Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster.   
The color drained from Karkaroff’s face as Harry watched. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over him. 

 

“You!” Karkaroff hissed, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him.   
“Me,” said Moody grimly. “And unless you’ve got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You’re blocking the Hall.”   
It was true; half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind them, looking over one another’s shoulders to see what was causing the holdup.   
Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him until he was out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face. 

 

“Come on,” Hermione pulled him from his swirling thoughts by tugging at his sleeve. “Let's go back to our common room.”   
Nodding, Harry was about to follow her, when Moody's voice stopped him. “Potter,” the ex-auror said, close to his left ear, so that no one else would be able to hear him. A shiver ran down Harrys spine, but he stopped himself from taking a step back.  
“You should know, Potter, there is something more lowly than an Death Eater. It's a traitor. Keep away from him.” 

 

He wanted to retort something, but Moody had already straightened and a loud and steady clonk told him, that the man was moving already away. Frowning, he wondered what the ex-auror had wanted to tell him. Why should traitors be worse than Death Eaters? Weren't they on the light's side?  
“What was that, mate?” Ron ask, interrupting his train of thought. He only shook his head, though, and said: “Not here.”  
He exchanged a saying look with his friends and they quickly rushed the stepps up to Gryffindor Tower. Once in their common room, Harry scanned the crowded room and lead his friends up to the dormitory, where he, Ron and Hermione sat down on his bed, before closing the curtains. Hermione erected several privacy wards, before questioning, brown eyes settled on him.

 

“Moody warned me of Karkaroff,” he told his friends without waisting more time. “He said, there is something worse than Death Eaters.”  
“Who should be worse than Death Eaters?” Ron asked with furrowed brows and Hermione rolled her eyes, before saying: “Traitors, obviously. By befriending a traitor, you will have Voldemort hunting you, now where he is back. I doubt that he will oversee treachery.”

 

“That sound's logical,” Harry mused, watching Ron pail.  
“Do you want to say, Mione, that You-Know-Who will be after us, if we talk to much to Karkaroff?” The red-head asked.  
“Oh really, Ron!” Hermione snapped.  
“What?” Ron asked back, throwing Harry a questioning look.  
Sighing, Harry said: “Ron, Voldemort is already after us, it will make no difference. I think the three of us can not climb much higher on his hit list.”  
“Yeah, you're right,” Ron laughed nervously, his cheeks flushing red.

 

“This evening really was something,” Hermione said, bringing the conversation back on track.  
Harry nodded. “We know now, that Karkaroff was a Death Eater once, not that I didn't suspect it already...” he trailed off.  
“Yeah, they have all this cold look in their eyes,” Ron shivered. “Like Snape, don't you think?”  
“Definitively,” he agreed.   
Hermione nodded as well and then said: “We also know, that the Death Eater with name Crouch is not Bartemius Crouch. He also can not be his son, who had the same name, but is dead already. Could he be a completely different Crouch? I mean, the name is not that rare?”

 

“I don't know,” Harry said honestly.  
“Well, I will go to the library then tomorrow,” Hermione mused.  
“An ex-Death Eater at Hogwarts,” Ron said, “that really is scary.”  
“At least we have Moody,” Harry sighed. “Karkaroff seemed very frightened off him.”  
Ron nodded. “Rightly so. Back in his days, Moody filled half of Azkaban, that is at least, what dad told me once.”

 

They fell silent than, each of them deep in their own thoughts. Finally Hermione ended the silence by saying: “Let's go to bed. It's still fairly early for a Friday, but we should not sleep too long tomorrow.” With a flick of her wand she ended the privcy-spells and Ron and Hermione left his bed again.

 

When Hermione had disappeared from the dorm, Harry stood up and changed into an old t-shirt. He laid down, facing Ron, who was just laying down as well.   
“It is already happening so much,” Ron yawned tiredly.  
“Yeah, I don't even want to think about how the end of the year will be, when it is starting like this,” Harry agreed.  
“Well, he is back, isn't he? So it will probably be worse than in our first and second year,” Ron mused. Harry didn't answer and just listened to his friend, who continued: “But you are talented in defense and you have more stupid luck than should be allowed, so we will kick snaky's butt once again.”

 

Harry couldn't suppress the snort at that. “You're right, Ron. We will just kick his butt again,” he grinned.  
“And again and again,” Ron added, before saying, “good night, mate,” and closing his curtains.  
Harry starred for a minute at the closed curtains, wondering how this school year would turn out. Than he closed his own curtains and sealed them shut, before ending once again his many glamours. With a relieved sigh he turned on his back. Sometimes he really hated that he had to wear all these glamours. They didn't only make him look different, they also forced him to be a different person.

 

If he had to be honest, he was still a child at heart, his character fitted his childish appearance perfectly. When he was at Diagon Alley or in Hogsmeade, than he sometimes wanted to finally buy himself his first plush-animal, but knowing, that he should long since be a teenager, he never gave into that urge. How should he ever explain to his friends, why he went into a toy store? That really wasn't possible, not without having to answer many questions. Questions, he wasn't ready to answer.

 

There also was the fact, that he didn't want to risk being called a freak by his friends as well, enough people did that already and he would not take the chance to be carded off to St. Mungos' psychic ward, only for a toy.

 

He rolled onto his left side and let go of all this depressing thoughts, he wanted to sleep now. As he slowly relaxed, he once again could feel the brushing against his mind. It was, as if the present was watching him. How long had it done so?   
Shaking his head, Harry smiled softly, thinking, that his friend could watch him for as long as he wanted and fell asleep.

…

When Harry awoke the next morning, he found a short note on his nightstand, which a house elf must have placed there for him. Rubbing his eyes, he unrolled the small scroll and read:

My dear son,  
I would like to invite you and your friends to a breakfast in my office. I think we still have some things to discuss after the event's of the day before.  
Your adoptive father,  
Albus.

 

Harry sighed, with the excitement over the guests, the start of the Triwizarding Tournament and Moody's strange warning, he had forgotten about Umbridge. Placing the note into his upper drawer, he pulled some muggle jeans from his trunk, a t-shirt and a hoody, before dressing quickly and waking Ron.  
His friend looked still very tired, but got up without complaining for once and joined him five minutes later in the boy's bathroom.

 

When they arrived down in the common room, Hermione was already there, like usual. She sat next to the fireplace, a book on her lap.  
“Albus invited us for breakfast,” Harry announced, when she looked up.  
Hermione's eyes grew wide. “I nearly forgot about Umbridge! Oh I hope the aurors will bring her to Azkaban!”  
“I wouldn't bet on it,” Harry snorted, thinking that the Ministry seemed very corrupt these days.  
Sighing, Hermione agreed. “Me neither. Well, than let's go.”

 

They made their way out of the common room and up the stairs to the floor where the headmasters office was located. Harry went ahead and the gargoyle jumped to the side as soon as the beast saw him approach. Albus's door stood ajar, so he only knocked shortly, before stepping inside.

 

“Ah, my boy. Good morning to you too, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley.” Dumbledore said and rose from his seat with a bright smile. “Dobby already prepared breakfast for us,” he continued and pointed to a small, purple lounge, where a coffee table groaned under the weight of four overloaded trays.  
“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said politely.

 

Harry sat down next to Dumbledore on the plushy sofa, so that his friends could occupy the two armchairs. Looking down on his tray, he saw a collection of his favourite dishes: fried bacon, treacle tarts, bread rolls with jam, pumpkin juice and much more.   
On Hermione's plate he could also sea slices of fruits and Ron's held a huge bowl of scrambled eggs.   
For a moment they sat in comfortable silence, filling their plates or buttering some bread rolls. When his father had swallowed his first bite he said:  
“The aurors were here yesterday. They confiscated around ten blood quills and interrogated her for about an hour, but as I feared, Fudge stepped in before the investigation could go very far.” Albus sighed with a grave expression.

 

Harry swallowed. It wasn't as if he hadn't already feared something like this, but to hear it affirmed, was a whole different matter. Something was going very wrong in their world currently and Voldemort was not at fault this time.  
“What does that exactly mean, Professor?” Hermione asked, her voice very silent.  
“She will probably get a monetary fine and a reprimand. She also will not be allowed to oversee any detention she gives you,” Dumbledore inclined Harry's head in his direction and he gave a curt nod.

 

“Unfortunately,” Albus continued, “she will not have to leave the school, we can only hope, that she will not have enough time to continue teaching after the election in November. But at least, your detention are over now. Dolores agreed after a private talk, that you spend enough time in her office.”  
“That is at least something,” Harry said, spearing a slice of bacon.  
“Has she told you, when she will start to examine the other Professors, sir?” Ron asked, between two bites of sausages.  
Across from Harry, Hermione wrinkled her nose, but said nothing, as Dumbledore answered: “Not yet, but I think we will not have to wait long for her inquisition.” Then his face broke into a smile and his eyes started twinkling: “So, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, who do you think will be our champion?”

 

The rest of their breakfast was spend with easy conversation and Harry was thankful about it. After they had left, the rest of the day went mostly by in an excited blurry. Student's whispered everywhere and a small crowd was constantly watching the Goblet of Fire to see, who would be brave enough to put his name in. 

 

Harry spend most of his day with his two friends in the library, like Hermione had suggested the evening before and tried to find out, who that other Crouch could be, but with no success. There never had been another Death Eater, or the one he had seen in his dream had never been publicly outed as one.   
It didn't help, that they could not find a picture of Barty Crouch Jr. either. Hermione suspected, that his prominent father had bribed the Prophet to keep the scandal as small as possible, even though, it clearly hadn't worked by the amount of old articles they found.

 

They didn't talk about what had been discussed in Dumbledore's office and Harry tried to work diligently and did his best to not let himself be effected by the growing excitement around him, but it got harder and harder as he grew later and later. The champions would be announced after dinner, which meant, around 8 o'clock.

 

Like the evening before, he had the feeling, he was being watched, but he truly didn't minded at all, quite the opposite, actually. The mere present of the presence in his mind calmed him down and gave him a comfortable feeling of being never alone. He somehow liked the thought, that someone was interested enough in him, to just watch him for hour and hours on end, it flattered him somehow. Never had he gotten so much attention and it didn't even had to with his undeserved fame for being alive, at least, he believed so.

 

At half past six Fred and George suddenly appeared behind him.  
“Done it,” Fred said in a triumphant whisper to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Just taken it.”   
“What?” asked Ron.   
“The Aging Potion, dung brains,” said Fred. “One drop each,” said George, rubbing his hands together with glee. “We only need to be a few months older.” 

 

“I’m not sure this is going to work, you know,” said Hermione warningly “I’m sure Dumbledore will have thought of this.” Fred and George ignored her, instead George asked: “Do you want to watch?”  
“Sure Harry said with a grin, he honestly was curious, if they would succeed and the had promised him to drag him into the Tournament, after all.  
“Than let's go,” the twins said in unison and with a wave.  
Hermione looked not so enthusiastic, but Harry hastily put his quill, notes and ink back into his school bag and jumped to his feet, Ron close behind.

 

“Just don't complain, if I am right in the end,” Hermione said and shouldered her bag as well.  
Fred and George laid both an arm on Harrys shoulder and bend down to whisper into his ears, as they excited the library. “We will use the price money to open our own Joke shop. Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. What do you think?”  
Harry grinned up at them. “Sound's great. I am sure you will be awesome, better than Zonko's!”  
“Thank's, but don't tell Ron anything, or mom,” the twins grinned back ad let go of him again. 

 

When they reached the Great Hall, Harry noticed, that the windows had been shaded, the only light was coming from the blueish flames of the goblet of fire. The crowd of curious watchers was still there, among them Collin with his camera.

 

“Ready?” Fred said to his brother, quivering with excitement. “C’mon, then — I’ll go first —” Harry watched, fascinated, as Fred pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket bearing the words Fred Weasley — Hogwarts. He really couldn't say, if he believed, Fred and George would be able to trick the goblet or not. The two were intelligent, more intelligent than most people realized, but he also knew the genius mind of Albus. Knowledge, wisdom and a maraudish cleverness mixed there behind those twinkling, blue eyes and Hermione could very well be right by saying, Dumbledore would have thought of aging potions, the solution sounded a bit too simple.

 

Concentrating back on Fred, he watched as the red-head walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the Great Hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line. 

 

For a split second Harry thought it had worked — George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred — but in the next moment, Harry could here a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards. 

 

The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other’s beards. 

 

“I did warn you,” said a deep, amused voice, and Harry turned to see Albus coming out of the Great Hall. Dumbledore surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. “I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours.”   
Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by their best friend Lee, who was howling with laughter.

 

“Should we already sit down?” Harry asked with a glance to his watch. It was ten to seven, which meant, returning to the library would not be worthwhile.   
“I guess so,” Hermione said and lead the way to the left, where the Gryffindor table stood.  
Harry chose a spot in the front quarter, wanting to have a good view, when the champion would be announced.   
“Do you think they will be back until eight?” Ron asked, flopping down next to him.  
“I think it depends on how complicated Dumbledore has made that spell on the age line,” Hermione said, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips and Harry wondered, how she was succeeding in not saying, “I told you so.”   
“I think they will, or they will show up with beards,” Harry snickered.

 

“So, do one of you know, who might be our champion? Are there any favourites?” He asked, then, looking over to the crowd still gathered around the goblet.  
“There’s a rumor going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in,” Dean suddenly appeared behind him, rounded the table and than sat down across from him, Ron and Hermione, together with Seamus. Harry inwardly groaned. If Dean was sitting opposide of him, so would probably Ginny soon. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and patted his arm reassuringly, before their attention was once again upon Dean, who continued: “That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth, you know who I mean?” 

 

Harry had played Quidditch against Warrington and shook his head in disgust. Someone like Warrington would never bring glory to hogwarts or Britain.  
“We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” Ron exclaimed heatedly.  
“And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,” mused Seamus contemptuously. “But I wouldn’t have thought he’d have wanted to risk his good looks.” 

 

Harry had to admit, he could not believe it either. He knew Cedric Diggory only from Quidditch, but the boy had only joined the Hufflepuff team at the end of last year, when the Hufflepuff seeker had suddenly quit. Cedric was nice enough, but also a bit boring and kind of a sunny-boy, with his golden, wavy hair. How the Hufflepuff was doing in classes, he had no idea, but his house was certainly not famous for bravery in any kind.

 

“Listen!” said Hermione suddenly, making him look up.  
People were cheering out in the entrance hall. They all swiveled around in their seats and saw Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way. Harry watched his fellow Quidditch team mate making her way to the goblet and after the girl had taken a deep intake of air, she stepped over the age line and dropped her name into the goblet. Cheers errupted around her and her friends were patting her back in congratulation, as if she had already been announced champion.

She came over then, sat down next to Seamus and said: “Well, I’ve done it! Just put my name in!”   
“You are already 17?” asked Harry, trying to remember, if she ever had mentioned her age, but than again, girls rarely did mention their age.   
“ ’Course she is, can’t see a beard, can you?” said Ron.   
“I had my birthday last week,” said Angelina.   
“Well, I’m glad someone from Gryffindor’s entering,” said Hermione. “I really hope you get it, Angelina!”   
“Thanks, Hermione,” smiled Angelina.   
“Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory,” said Seamus, causing several Hufflepuffs passing their table to scowl heavily at him, but Angelina only lauged. “You're right,” she laughed.   
“Yeah, who would want a nansy-boy like him for Hogwarts?” Ron snorted.  
“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed incredulous. 

Harry watched their exchange with interest, he had never heard wizards talk about homosexuals before and wondered, if their opinion would be different from the muggles. He only knew his uncles opinion and couldn't really say, that he believed, that Vernon was a prime example for every muggle.

“Oi, Mione, you can't say, that I am not right!” Ron huffed.  
“Well, he is a bit of a pansy,” Hermione gave in and than added with a glare, “But that doesn't say anything about his fighting skills!”  
“But he is a Hufflepuff as well,” Ron retorted.  
Hermione sighed. “That is probably a better argument.”

 

The discussion came to an end, as students started to file into the Great Hall and all eyes settled on the head table, obviously waiting for Albus. A collective sigh went through the gathered students, when the blond girl from Beauxbatons appeared, followed by other French girls. Ron was once again gaping, but only shortly, because they quickly made their way to the guest's table and sat down, far enough from the Gryffindor table, to make what ever kind of charm she possessed not working anymore.

 

Turning to Hermione, Harry asked: “What is a veela?”  
Hermione sighed, as if tortured. “Veela are magical creatures. They are creatures of love, who can use allure to charm men in their surrounding, mostly to search for their soul mate, at least with full-blooded veela. Only children; women and men who have their own soul mates (due to their own creature inheritance), or are not interested in the opposite sex, are immune against their charm, but I don't believe, that she is full-blooded.”  
“That explains,” Harry said, silently wondering, if he really was still a child. He surely was no creature or half-creature, as far as he knew, the Potters had never mingled with magical creatures and he could not imagine fancying boys, as well. Sure, he didn't really fancy girls either, but he had always pictured himself with a wife and a small family, when he thought about the future.

 

Murmuring started again and when he looked up, he saw Krum striding inside, next to his headmaster Karkaroff. Ron once again tried to get a look, but their view was quickly blocked by Crouch and Bagman, who seemed eager to talk to the famous Quidditch star as well. They accompanied Krum and Karkaroff to their table and then went on to the head table, where already most teachers had gathered, only Albus was still missing. But just when he wanted to look away again, a purple and golden figure entered the hall through the back-door. Dumbledore twinkled at him and than went to stand in front of his golden chair, instantly, everybody fell silent with anticipation.

 

“I will not say much to you at this point. I am sure we are all hungry and curious to know, who the champions will be.”  
The usual golden plates appeared on the tables, again with many foreign dishes. Harry had not paid much attention to them yesterday, he had been too starved, but theire really were a lot of food, he did not recognize.

 

The feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was the second feast in two days and like everybody else, he wanted only to be done with the eating quickly and see, whom the goblet would choose.  
Students around him were constantly craning their necks, with impatient expressions on their faces. It seemed louder than usual with all the nervous fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet. 

 

When finally all plates had vanished, the murmuring grew even louder. Harry looked up to Dumbledore, who finally got to his feet with Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime on either side of him.  
“Finally,” Ron breathed next to him, but he didn't react and simply continued watching. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.   
“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Albus.   
“Great!” exclaimed suddenly a female voice.   
Harry blinked and looked in Dean's and Seamus' direction to see, that Ginny had joined them sometimes during the feast. Her bright brown eyes were fixed intensely on him and he quickly turned his head back to the head table.

“I estimate that it requires one more minute,” Dumbledore said currently. “Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” — he indicated the door behind the staff table — “where they will be receiving their first instructions.” 

 

Dumbledore took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall and Harry once again looked with awe at it. The flames looked somehow cold and his skin started to prickle with anticipation. Oh how he wanted to watch this event. For once he would just be a bystander, like everybody else as well and with some luck, the hype around the champions would be big enough, that no one cared for him for once. It would be blissful. There still was some lingering worry, that someone might have smuggled his name into the goblet after all, but he quickly squashed it, telling hiself, that he would know in a few minutes, that all his worries had been unfounded.

 

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it and the next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it.  
Harry gasped, as Albus caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

 

“Which school, do you think, will get it's champion first?” Ron whispered, excitedly hopping from one foot to the other.  
“Don't know,” He whispered back, never leaving Dumbledore with his eyes.   
“The champion for Durmstrang,” Dumbledore read finally, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”   
“I knew it!” yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall.   
Nodding, Harry watched Viktor Krum rise from this seat and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.   
“Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!”

 

Harry stopped clapping as soon as the flames of the goblet went red again and a second tongue of fire emerged from it. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.   
“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Albus, “is Fleur Delacour!” 

 

The girl, who Ron believed to be a veela rose from her seat and inclined her head gracefully.  
“It’s her, Ron!” Harry shouted, remembering his friends infatuation with her. Ron's head instantly snapped up and his eyes followed the blond girl with a dazed look, while Hermione only sighed, as if defeated.   
Slowly, Harry got the feeling, that the girl's hate for the part veela had not directly to do with the French girl, but more with her effect on Ron. Could it be possible, that Hermione was in love with Ron?  
He glanced over to his bushy-haired, whos cheeks were slightly flushed and he gave her a broad grin. Hermione only flushed harder and averted her eyes, as if embarrassed, but Harry really saw no reason for it and he would make sure, to tell her exactly that. Maybe she was unsure, because they were a trio? But he honestly thought, that his two friends would make a great couple.

 

Hermione looked suddenly up again, pointed at the Beauxbatongs pupils and said: “Oh look, they’re all disappointed.”  
Despite knowing that she only wanted to distract him from his newest realization, Harry looked in the direction she had pointed, only to see, that Disappointed was a bit of an understatement: Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms, while the others looked more than only depressed.

 

When Fleur had vanished into that chamber next to the head table as well, the Great Hall fell unusually silent. There were no whispers anymore, no shuffling, all eyes were simply fixed on the goblet of fire once more.

 

When red flames errupted for the third time from the goblet, a simultaneous, inaudible gasp seem to go through the student body and Harry bit on his bottom lip to not make any sound.   
Dumbledore caught the third parchment and read aloud: “The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!”   
Harry's face split with a grin. Cedric was not the champion he would have wished for, but the last bits of lingering doubt, that someone might have smuggle his name into the goblet had vanished with the name and he started clapping and whistling in joy.

 

“No!” exclaimed Ron but Harry ignored him and no body else heard the red-head, the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly. The blond boy headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table, but the applause didn't stop when he was out of sight, as it had done before. The students continued clapping, until Dumbledore finally cleared his throat, on his face a bright smile as well and Harry would have sworn, that he could see relieve twinkle in those blue eyes as well. 

 

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily, “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —”   
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and with a feeling of dread and approaching doom, Harry watched, as the flames in the goblet of fire turned red once more. 

 

His heart started to race and a desperate voice in his mind prayed, that this couldn't be happening, at least not, what he feared was just happening. His whole body started to tramble and he grabbed Hermione's arm to his left, who answered with a strong grip of her own.

 

Sparks were flying and Harry didn't want to watch as another piece of parchment flew out of them and Albus grabbed this one as well, as if the man was in his own trance. The silent around him was ears-shattering. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and Harry continued his prayers, but it didn't help, because one moment later Albus read out:   
“Harry Potter.” 

 

Harrys heart missed a beat and he felt as if he was going to pass out. Every head had turned in his direction, hundreds of eyes were staring at him, many accusingly.  
How could his dream of a quiet, uneventful school year, aside from the trouble with Umbridge and probably a Voldemort-encounter at the end of it, have been shattered so quickly?

 

He was sure, that Fred and George had kept their word and they hadn't even succeeded with their own name, but who had put his name in then? Had somehow Voldemort managed to do so? That seemed the most plausible explanation.  
His thoughts were interrupted, when a buzzing noise, like hundred angry bees were gathering in the Great Hall, reached his ears.

Blinking, Harry saw that some students had climbed upon their chairs, to get a better look at him, but his eyes quickly wandered to Albus, desperately bagging for a way out of this mess. But Dumbledore was currently distracted. McGonagall had swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently into Albus's ear, who was frowning slightly. 

 

He looked back at his friends. Hermione looked as anxious as he felt, but Ron sported a blank expression.  
“I didn’t put my name in,” Harry said quietly to his friends. “You know I didn’t.”   
Hermione nodded, with a reassuring smile and pressed his arm, where Harry was still holding on to, slightly, but Ron only starred blankly back. 

 

“Harry Potter!” The voce of Albus, sounding somehow harsh and strained, made him flinch.   
“Harry! Up here, if you please!”   
He threw Hermione a panicked look, but the girl only whispered: “Go on,” and gave him a a slight push. Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled   
slightly. 

 

The short distance between the Gryffindor Table and the door next to the head table felt immensely long and the gazes on him seemed to make every step harder, or his numb legs simply didn't want to move. The top table didn’t seem to be getting any nearer at all, and he could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. He closed his eyes fore a moment, trying to feel the calming present of his mental companion, but said presence seemed aggitated as well, as if wondering, what had happened to him.   
After what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him. 

 

“Well...through the door, my son,” Dumbledore said. He wasn’t smiling and Harry got the feeling, as if he just had disappointed his guardian. Harry gave him a long, pleading look, but Dumbledore only shook slightly his head and Harry remembered the man's words from earlier, “There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion,” and his heart sank further.   
Finally he moved off along the teachers’ table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished and stared at him as he passed like everyone else. 

 

Harry went through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him and the faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear and Harry got the feeling, that the first rumor was just starting to fly around.

 

Searching the room with his eyes, he found Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair. 

 

“What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”   
She thought he had come to deliver a message. Harry didn’t know how to explain what had just happened. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were. Even if he weren't as small as he was, he would still be shorter. They were taler, older and most likely far more experienced. How should he ever be able to compete with them?   
This year was turning out to be a huge nightmare.

 

There was a sound of scurrying feet behind him, and as he turned his head, he saw Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry by the arm and led him forward. His touch was not too strong, but Harry could not understand the excitement in the man's eyes.  
“Extraordinary!” Bagman muttered, squeezing his arm again. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen... lady,” the man added, approaching the fire-side and addressing the other three.   
Harry prayed, that somehow, miraculously, Bagman would not say what he feared, but he, of course, was not fortunate enough.  
“May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the fourth Triwizard champion?” 

 

Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed him. Cedric looked nonplussed. The boy looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.”   
“Joke?” Bagman repeated, bewildered. “No, no, not at all! Harry’s name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”   
Krum’s thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned.   
“But evidently zair ’as been a mistake,” she said contemptuously to Bagman. “ ’E cannot compete. ’E is too young.”   
“Well... it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry, who didn't feel like returning the gesture. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name’s come out of the goblet... I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage... It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged.... Harry will just have to do the best he —” 

 

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and lastly Umbridge.   
Harry groaned as he saw the witch, she was by far the last person he wanted to see right now, even Snape was more welcome. Glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, he saw a strange gleam in her small toad-like eyes.  
For a moment he heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door. 

 

“Madame Maxime!” said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!”   
Harry wanted to glare at her, but he quickly suppressed the impulse, this surely was neither the right place, nor the right time. He maybe was still young and yes, he was small, but Fleur did not look, as if she could compete against anything as well. All the time the girl was tossing her hair over her shoulder, looking at her nails and wrinkling her nose at everyone and everything.

 

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle- filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.   
“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” she said imperiously.   
“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” said Profes-sor Karkaroff. The man was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?” Karkaroff gave a short and nasty laugh.

 

Looking at the gathered adults, Harry thought, that they did not cope very well with his nomination. He would gladly be the first to back out of the tournament, this whole thing sounded much too scary, but Albus knew that and considering, that Albus had not yet said anything about him withdrawing, Harry could only guess, that his fear was affirmed: There was no backing out of this. Which in return meant, this whole argument was completely stupid.

 

He focust again on the conversation, when Madame Maxime said:  
“C’est impossible, ’Ogwarts cannot ’ave two champions. It is most injust.”   
“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. “Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.” 

 

“It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,” said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. “Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for Potter’s determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here —”   
A wave of hate swapped through Harry at his Potions Professor's voice. Oh, how he hated that man. Why did Snape need to use every chance to insult him? He was about to snap at the man, when his guardian said, his voice firm: “Thank you, Severus.”   
Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair. 

 

Dumbledore was now looking down at him. Harry looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. Was Albus really disappointed? Or had that only been a feeling, born by his anxiousness earlier?

 

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” Albus asked calmly.   
“No,” said Harry honestly. “You know I wouldn't do that. I don't even want to...” Dumbledore placed a calming hand on his shoulder and said: “I know, my son.”

 

In the background Harry could here Umbridge laughing disbelievingly and he was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows as well and Harry didn't want to imagine the commands and snide remarcs he would have to endure in Potions on Monday. 

 

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?” asked Albus ignoring Snape and Umbridge.   
“No,” he answered vehemently.   
“Ah, but of course ’e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling. Glancing towards the group, Harry suddenly found it very suspicious, that Umbridge was so very silent. He would have thought, that the witch would use the situation to make more fun of him, like Snape did, or to try and give him more detention, or even try to expel him somehow, that would seem like a thing she would try.  
But he couldn't continue to think about the matter, when McGonagall said sharply: “He could not have crossed the Age Line. I am sure we all agreed on that — ”   
“Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” said Madame Maxime, shrugging.   
“Many students have tried it today and no one has succeeded, why should a fourth year be able to? There is just no way!” McGonagall bristled.

 

Dumbledore though, lifted his hand in a calming gesture. “It is possible, of course.” “Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!” said McGonagall angrily and Harry was glad, that someone was defending his guardian, even though the mand probably didn't need the help.

 

“Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for every- body else!” McGonagall ranted on, shooting a very angry look at Professor Snape, who was once again snorting disdainfully.

 

“Mr. Crouch...Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, “you are our — er — objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”   
Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. 

 

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”   
“Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed. Apparently, the man was very happy about Harry's participation. Harry thought, Bagman had probably his fame in mind and the added attention it would bring the tournament.

 

“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,” Harry looked over to Karkaroff as the man spoke. The Russian headmaster had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look now.   
“You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It’s only fair, Dumbledore.”   
“But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,” said Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out — it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament —”   
“— in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” exploded Karkaroff. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!” 

 

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled suddenly a voice from near the door. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?”   
Turning around, Harry saw that Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.   
Harry supposed, that Moody's assumption was not that far fetched, who else would put his name into the goblet? It was, after all, a good chance to get accidentally rid of him, but still, Umbridge odd behavior was strange as well.

 

“Convenient?” said Karkaroff, forcing Harry's thoughts back to the conversation. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.”   
He could tell Karkaroff was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists. 

 

“Don’t you?” said Moody quietly. “It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.”   
“Evidently, someone ’oo wished to give ’Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” said Madame Maxime.   
“Of course,” Moody sneered. “And it was just by chance, that the name coming out of it was Potters.”  
“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” said Karkaroff, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards —”   
“If anyone’s got reason to complain, it’s Potter, he is the one who will have to risk his life for a tournament he clearly didn't want to participate in, seeing how pale he is.” growled Moody now, “but... funny thing... I don’t hear him saying a word...” 

“Of courze, pale. Why should ’e complain?” burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot, making Harry think, that she would fit very well to Umbridge, with her child-like behavior. “’E ’as ze chance to compete, ’asn’t ’e? We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!” 

 

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.   
An extremely tense silence followed these words, even though, Moody had only voice what Harry and surely Albus as well, had thought the whole time.   
Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, “Moody, old man... what a thing to say!”   
“We all know Mad-Ey Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” said Karkaroff loudly and with a barking laughter. “You should be relieved, Dumbledore, that he is not teaching your students, or he would teach them his fear for assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons, when you first invited him.” 

 

“Imagining things, am I?” growled Moody. “Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy’s name in that goblet...”   
“Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?” said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.   
“Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!” said Moody.   
Harry honestly didn't think, that the ex-auror sounded all that paranoied. A bit, maybe, but only within reasons.

 

“It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament... I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category...”   
“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” said Karkaroff coldly, “and a very ingenious theory it is — though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously...” 

 

“There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice. “It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff — as you ought to remember...”   
“Alastor!” said Dumbledore warningly.   
Harry wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized “Mad-Eye” could hardly be Moody’s real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction — Karkaroff’s face was burning and he, now, had at least one thing clearly confirmed: Karkaroff had been a Death Eater.

 

“How this situation arose, we do not know,” his guardian now said, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do...”   
“Ah, but Dumbly-dorr —”   
“My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it. I am not very eager to sea my son compete.” Dumbledore said with a very polite smile and waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked still rather excited. 

 

Sighing, Harry came to the conclusion, that this was a huge mess, one he could do without.  
“Well, shall we crack on, then?” Bagman said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honors?” 

 

Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie. “Yes,” he said, “instructions. Yes... the first task...” He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harry thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin.   
“The first task is designed to test your daring,” he told him, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard... very important... The first task will take place on Halloween, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.”   
Hermione was not going to like that bit of news, Harry thought with a small smirk. Well, he surely would not prottest.  
Mr. Crouch turned to look at Albus then. “I think that’s all, is it, Albus?” 

 

“Yes, I think so,” retorted Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?”   
“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” said Mr. Crouch. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment... you know, the upcoming election... I’ve left young Weatherby in charge... Very enthusiastic... a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told...”   
“You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” asked Dumbledore. 

 

“Come on, Barty, I’m staying!” said Bagman brightly. “It’s much more exciting here than at the office!”   
“I think not, Ludo,” said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience.   
“Professor Karkaroff — Madame Maxime — a nightcap?” said Dumbledore.   
But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur’s shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room.   
Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence. 

 

“Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed,” said Dumbledore then, smiling at both of them. “I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”   
Harry answered Albus with a wide grin, even so he didn't feel like celebrating and then glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and Harry followed the older teen out of the small chamber.

 

The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.   
“So,” said Cedric, with a slight smile and Harry sighed inwardly, he knew what would be coming net. “We’re playing against each other again!”   
“I s’pose,” he answered. He really couldn’t think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked.   
“So... tell me...” said Cedric as they reached the Entrance Hall, which was now lit only by a few torches. “How did you get your name in?”   
“I didn’t,” Harry repeated dryly. Why did no one believe him? Was this bloody tournament really that great of an event? “I didn’t put it in. I was telling the truth.”   
“Ah... okay,” said Cedric, but he could tell Cedric didn’t believe him. “Well... see you, then.” 

 

Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. For a moment, Harry stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, he started to climb the marble ones. 

 

Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he’d put himself in for the tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who’d had three years’ more magical education than he had — when he was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people?   
He had not even thought once about entering, he had wished for a quiet school year, where he could watch a great event.

 

Suddenly he remembered the look Ron had given him after his name had come out of the goblet of fire and for a moment, he wondered, if Ron really was going to believe him, but then he quickly pushed the thought to the side. Ron was his best friend, surely he would believe him, wouldn't he?

 

His mind wandered back to more important matters. He could feel his friends lingering attentively in the back of his mind, still watching, as he once again wondered, who could have entered his name.  
He did not think, that whoever had done it, did it to make him a favour. No, that wasn't it, not with him, Harry Potter.  
Not even to see him making a fool of himself, even though, they were likely to get their wish...  
Moody's suspicion seemed still to be the most likely one. He didn't believe, that the man was overly paranoid right now.  
He wished he could believe, that this all was only a huge joke someone had pulled on him, but he couldn't he had seen to much in the last three years and especially not know, after Voldemort had just returned. It was simply too much of an coincident.

 

But that still left the question, of how could Voldemort have ensured that his name got into the Goblet of Fire? Well, in the end it wasn't really important how. Important was, that he somehow needed to survive this blasted tournament.

 

Harry startled, when he suddenly nearly bumped into the Fat Lady, he was already at the Gryffindor Tower. He had barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. It was also a surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. The wizened witch who had flitted into her neighbor’s painting when he had joined the champions downstairs was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. She must have dashed through every picture lining seven staircases to reach here before him. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at him with the keenest interest. 

 

“Well, well, well,” said the Fat Lady, “Violet’s just told me everything. Who’s just been chosen as school champion, then?”   
“Balderdash,” said Harry dully. “It most certainly isn’t!” said the pale witch indignantly. “No, no, Vi, it’s the new password,” said the Fat Lady soothingly, and she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room. 

 

The blast of noise that met Harry’s ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling. 

 

“You should’ve told us you’d entered!” bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed.   
“How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!” roared George.   
“I didn’t,” Harry said for what felt like the hundreds time this evening. “I don’t know how —”   
But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; “Oh if it couldn’t be me, at least it’s a Gryffindor —”   
“You’ll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!” shrieked Katie Bell, another of the Gryffindor Chasers, hinting at the cursed match last year, where he had fallen unconscious from his broom, due to a horde of Dementors.

 

“We’ve got food, Harry, come and have some —”   
“I’m not hungry, I had enough at the feast —” He said, only wanting to lay down and maybe speak to his friends for a bit, but nobody wanted to hear that he wasn’t hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn’t put his name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn’t at all in the mood to celebrate. 

 

Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak. Harry couldn’t get away; whenever he tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around him closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on him, stuffing crisps and peanuts into his hands. Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had tricked his guardian's Age Line and managed to get his name into the goblet. Some even suggested, that Dubledore himself had helped him.

 

“I didn’t,” he said, over and over again, “I don’t know how it happened. And Albus would never help me cheat!”   
But for all the notice anyone took, he might just as well not have answered at all.   
“I’m tired!” he bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour. “No, seriously, George — I’m going to bed —” 

 

He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Insisting that he needed to sleep, and almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay him at the foot of the stairs, Harry managed to shake everyone off and climb up to the dormitory as fast as he could. 

 

To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him.   
“Where’ve you been?” Harry asked, watching Ron closely, but his friends face was still strangely blank.   
“Oh hello,” said Ron. Now his friend was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. 

 

Harry suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving and helping him, watching Harry struggle to remove it. 

 

“So,” the red-head said, when he had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. “Congratulations.”   
“What do you mean, congratulations?” said Harry, staring at Ron and his fear from earlier came back. Did Ron really not believe him? Did his friend thought, that all his complaining in front of Fred and George had been an act?

 

With a grimace like smile Ron answered: “Well...no one else got across the Age Line. Not even Fred and George. What did you use — the Invisibility Cloak?”   
“The Invisibility Cloak wouldn’t have got me over that line,” said Harry slowly, his suspicion getting more and more confirmed.   
“Oh right,” said Ron. “I thought you might’ve told me if it was the cloak... because it would’ve covered both of us, wouldn’t it? But you found another way, did you?” 

 

Sighing and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, Harry prayed for patience, before saying: “Listen,I didn’t put my name in that goblet. Someone else must’ve done it.”   
Ron raised his eyebrows. “What would they do that for?”   
“I dunno, there are enough people, who want to see me dead and Voldemort is back as well” he retorted dryly.   
Ron’s eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair.   
“It’s okay, you know, you can tell me the truth,” his friend said, as if he had not heard his last sentence. “If you don’t want everyone else to know, fine, but I don’t know why you’re bothering to lie, you didn’t get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady’s, that Violet, she’s already told us all Dumbledore’s letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don’t have to do end-of-year tests either...” 

 

“I didn’t put my name in that goblet!” said Harry, starting to feel very angry. How could Ron be so blind and thick-headed, after everything that had happened this school year, already?   
“Yeah, okay,” said Ron, in exactly the same sceptical tone as Cedric. “I’m not stupid, you know, you can tell me the truth. You always found ways, it's like that since I know you. You even got into the Chamber of Secrets, somehow.”   
Harry finally snapped: “You’re doing a really good impression of it.”   
“Yeah?” Ron retorted, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. “You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you’ll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something.” 

 

Harry watched in disbelieve, as Ron wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster bed, leaving him standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him.   
Shaking his head, he made his way over to his own bed and laid down, still completely dressed, it was getting a bad habit. As soon as he closed his mind, he searched out the presence in his mind. It was still there, still fairly attentive and now emitting calming waves once again. Harry wished, he could speak to it, but that wasn't possible, as far as he knew, at least.

 

This night, he needed very long to fall asleep, even with the soothing waves swapping over him. His mind was full with thoughts of Voldemort, of Karkaroff, the Goblet of Fire and Moody. And of course with Ron.  
When he finally fell asleep, Harry was still wondering, if his best friend had just betrayed him.

…

Voldemort strode down the hallway to his library. It was slowly getting dark outside. Barty would arrive later on and report him, if the Ministry had indeed entered Potter's name into the Goblet of Fire, but considering Lucius' reports, it was safe to assume, that they had done so.  
He entered the dark room and light a single candle with a wave of his hand, making it flow beside him. In the far back he could see the fire in the fireplace burning and the basked with the snake eggs he was incubating currently. These snakes would not only grow into more pleasant companions than wormtail, but also useful followers. They were all magical and each specie had it's unique abilities, like those who could pass through nearly every barrier, even the old coot's ones.

He approached them and was satisfied to see, that the first few eggs were getting cracks in their shells, they would probably hatch tomorrow. Summoning his wing-back chair, he sat down, watching them.  
He had started his research about demons, but until now he had found nothing worth mentioning. So his thoughts once again returned to the child he had a connection to. He had decided to simply watch it for the time being. The more he knew about it, the easier his task would be, when he finally decided to approach it.

 

This child, with it's growing dark magic, was intriguing him more and more with every passing day, it had already become an obsession to watch it and collect informations. And it certainly was more delightful than thinking about Potter. Naturally, the boy occupied a large portion of his thoughts as well, but it were not pleasant thoughts. Not the kind of thoughts, that came with the fantasy of gaining a new, young, powerful and still moldable follower.

 

His thoughts were interrupted, when the sound of his library door being opened reached his ears. Looking up, he saw Nagini slithering toward him.  
He looked down at the black basilisk with her yellow feather-crown, who had finally left his private chamber for the first time since his rebirth. The huge snake tilted her heavy head, as if wanting to ask him something. Voldemort waited patiently and finally she asked:  
“Master, why is the boy your's?”

 

He didn't had to ask, which boy she meant, he had ranted about Harry Potter often enough in her presence. Still, the question of his trusted familiar irritated him, to say the least, because he had already explained it to her many times, despite the fact, he repeated his explanation again with a patience, he only possessed for his snakes.

“Because Harry Potter is the only threat to me in this world. It was predicted.”  
His familiar frowned, due to her long life and her many years amongst humans, she was intelligent even for a basilisk. After a while she hissed: “That does not make sense. Why kill something, that is yours? You do not destroy your wand either. And you once told me, that every wizard and witch knows, that prophecies only become true, because humans make them true.”

Looking up, Voldemort frowned. He had not noticed it before, but Nagini was right, he was contradicting himself, but before he could contemplate it further, the female basilisk continued: “I am by your side since you found me that one afternoon in the Muggle-World. I still can remember your original goals.”  
“My original goals?” he asked, deepening his frown. An uncomfortable feeling was rising in his head, like the headache someone got by trying to remember something, he had forgotten and which his own mind protected out of fear.

 

“Yes, Master. You wanted our world to be isolated from the other one, to protect our kind, you even wished them all dead, but you also saw the fruitlessness of trying to kill every single one of them with your own hands. Of course you have not abandoned all your goals...”

Nagini laid her heavy head onto his lap, looking at him expectantly, but he could not remember, not really at least, but he got the feeling, as if his familiar was telling him a story, he had heard once before. Had he really felt like this once?  
“Do you know when I changed my mind, my dear?”

Nagini didn't answer for a few seconds, but finally she said: “Shortly after the dark man told you about the prophecy,” she started and Voldemort did not need to ask her who the dark man was, to know that she meant Severus Snape “You first reaction was not rage, but amusement...”

Now Voldemort had to admit, that he felt fairly lost in their conversation, he could not remember any of it.

“...only,” Nagini continued and he focused back on her “when the hatchling's parents went into hiding, you grew angry. Very angry. And that was the beginning, I think. Some days I feared, you were possessed. Do you know now what stole your mind?”

Voldemort could only stare at the huge, white snake. Stole my mind? Did she really believe that. He could not believe, he had gone insane. He had been cruel before the Potter-incident and why should he loose his mind over a prophecy, which, like Nagini already said, often stayed unfulfilled? Why had he gone after the boy than? Had there been another reason, one he could not remember? But why should he have forgotten? He have always had the feeling, that he had a very detailed recollection of the years before his demise, at least, until now.

“No, I can not tell, who stole my mind. Not yet at least, but I will make sure to find out and than the culprit will be punished,” he finally answered, in a low, dangerous voice, while stroking with one long, elegant finger over Nagini's head.

 

He would have to start meditating again. His Occlumancy skills should be more than efficient to open closed off memories, but not today anymore, he would need to be well rested for that task.

 

The trembling of his wards informed him of a guest. Looking down on Nagini, he told her, “I will be in my throne room,” before misting out of the library.  
When he reappeared on his throne, Barty, still in the form of Mad-Eye Moody was already kneeling in front of it.  
“My Lord,” the man said without lifting his head.  
“Stand up, Barty,” he ordered and watched, as the man rose again, something, he needed longer for with the wooden leg he currently wore.  
“Well, report,” he commanded as soon as his follower stood again.

 

“It was as you have told me. Potter's name had indeed been entered, he is the fourth champion,” Barty said, without the usual trace of fear many followers had in their voices.  
“Do you know, what the first task will be?”  
“Not yet, but it is supposed to test their skills in the face of the unknown,” Barty answered.  
Voldemort thought for a moment, before saying: “Than you will give him this.” He pulled the basilisk egg from his pocket and let it levitate toward Barty, who picked it out of the air hold it carefully.  
“They will surely fight some beast. Potter will be able to incubate the egg and bond to the basilisk.”  
Barty nodded. “When shall I give Potter the egg?”  
“Not yet. Wait until next month. If we are lucky, more informations about the first Task will leak as soon as the judges have settled on the opponent. Tell the boy, what he will have to go up against, but only, if no one else is there to tell him. He shall not suspect you.”  
“Yes, My Lord,” Barty bowed.  
“Return now to Hogwarts,” Voldemort instructed and watched Barty leave after another deep bow.

 

Nagini entered than and without looking at her he tolled her: “You will be pleased to hear, my dear, that Zaida will not have to die. I found a master for her.”  
“Thank you, Master,” Nagini hissed, inclining her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J. K. Rowling.

 

AN: So, we are finally coming somewhere with this chapter! Hope you all like it :-)

5\. Umbridge's inquisition:

The next three weeks until October went by in a nightmarish blur for Harry. Ron was truly angry with him and still believed, he somehow managed to outwit his adoptive father's Age Line and had not spoken to him ever since the evening, where he had been announced as fourth champion.

 

But as if that was not bad enough, Ron was not the only one, who thought him to be a foul cheater. Nearly the entire school shared this opinion and especially the Hufflepuffs were angry, thinking that he wanted to steal the fame from Cedric. Apparently the Hufflepuffs had been overjoyed, because they rarely got a chance to glory, being the dovelike house they were.

 

Hermione did her best to spend equally amounts of time with him and Ron and Harry could see, that the situation was getting more and more to her nerves with every day. He felt sorry for her, but didn't want to tell his only left friend, that she could just go to Ron, because he needed her support too much.

 

Of course, there was still Ginny, who made it more than on one occasion clear, he could approach her, but in Harry's eyes, that was no alternative. And besides, Dean had made it fairly clear, he would break up with her, if she started to openly support him, something Harry wanted to avoid, because than Ginny would be able to openly flirt with him.

 

Malfoy had used the chance and produced Potter stinks badges, which he gave graciously to every student, who wanted one and now the majority of them didn't even had to open their mouth to insult him.  
To top it all off, the Monday after he had become a Triwizarding champion, he had been called to the weighing of his wand and to an interview with an horrendous witch named Rita Skeeter. The article should have been about all the champions, but had ended up to be a sappy, lies-dripping farce about him.

 

Her article had overflown with sentences like:  
“An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter — “ and, “Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.” and, “I suppose I get my strength from my parents. Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I’m not ashamed to admit it...”

 

But the absolutely worst had been her statement, that he was in a relationship with his best friend Hermione, making her a target for gossip as well.   
It had also clearly hurt his brainy friend, who by now quite clearly, fostered a crush on Ron. Ron in Return, had yet to notice anything.

 

One day Harry had even written to Sirius. His godfather had firecalled the fireplace in his common room and Harry had told him everything, that had happened in the last weeks, from Voldemort's return, over his nomination and lastly how unbearable school was right now. After that he have had a hard time to convince Sirius to not come straight to Hogwarts and hex the living day lights out of Umbridge and Ron. But even though Sirius could not come over, it still had helped a lot to talk about everything with the marauder.

 

What gave him the most strength these days, was his constant companion. The presence seemed to leave him only rarely. It was still only watching him, but sometimes, Harry had the feeling, that it was getting stronger, more present in a way. It was the only thing, keeping him sane, when he once again sat alone in the library for hours.  
Quidditch was only a little relieve this days. Angelina, Fred and George were still friendly to him and Oliver seemed neither particular angry, nor happy with him, but some of Malfoy's cronies had started to visit his training and barrack him.

 

And than there was the matter of the first task. He had no idea, what it could be, or how to prepare for it and the 31st of October still seemed so far away. Hermione had already told him, that they would start to search for strong offensive and defensive spells if he still had no clue once October arrived and that seemed the best solution so far.  
Umbridge's Defense lessons would surely not help him in any way, they were useless as ever. 

 

On Friday last week, she had finally announced, that the inquisition of the teachers would start on Monday the first.  
As predicted, she had successfully scheduled all her visits to take place in one of his classes.  
It would start with Potions, than Transfigurations, Devination, Charms, Herbology and finally Care of Magical Creatures. 

 

Right now he was in fact on his way to Potions, or rather to dinner and than to Potions.   
He was passing some empty classrooms on the seventh level, when someone suddenly grabbed his sleeve and yanked him into the next unused room.  
His heart was racing and for a short moment, Harry thought he was being attacked. With a gasp he spun around, only to come face to face with a beat-red Ron, who looked very embarrassed.

 

Harry was honestly not in the mood to speak with his best friend right now, who had done nothing than giving him the cold shoulder for three weeks now and he surely would not make an apology easy.  
So crossing his arms in front of his chest, he glared at Ron and asked: “What do you want?”  
Ron shuffled for a moment with his feet, clearly not daring to look him into his eyes, but then he bursted out: “Oh Harry, you have to listen to me, please! I was so stupid!”  
“You were,” Harry agreed coldly and Ron finally realized, that he would not be forgiven so easily.  
“Listen mate...”  
“Why should I?” Harry asked harshly, not seeing a reason, to give his treacherous friend the time of day.  
“Because,” Ron blurted out, “I am skipping my lunch break for you, so it must really be important if I do so, right?”  
Sighing, Harry had to admit, that his friend had a point there. There was not much that was more important to Ron than food. So he motioned for him to go on.

 

“I don't know what gotten into me, mate. I was so jealous! This tournament is a big thing and I know you never wanted to take part in it, but I dreamed all the time about winning this damn thing and finally doing something, neither of my brothers have done already! But I was so stupid, I didn't realize what it would mean to...” Ron gulped, before continuing, “...to actually do all these tasks.”

 

“And now you do?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised, not believing it yet, or maybe not wanting to. He had needed Ron after his nomination and to see his oldest friend turn his back on him had hurt so much.  
“Yes!” Ron said vehemently.  
“Why?” he simply asked, still not able to just forget yet.  
“Because,...” Ron gulped again and pulled a wrinkled letter from his pocket. “You know, when we joked about facing a dragon?”  
Harry nodded slowly, dread creeping up in his chest.

 

“Charley wrote me this morning and it really will be dragons! He is bringing them here at the end of next week! Dragons, Harry! Dragons! I can't believe it, I never thought, they would actually make you fight against dragons. I thought... I don't know, bogarts, or something, that they make more hype about this tournament than it will actually be, but... but...”  
Ron broke off then and slumped down onto a chair, looking up at him with pleading eyes, but Harry didn't know how to react. He had feared that the task would be bad, but this was more than bad, this was insane. His throat seemed to close off and his thought ran thousand miles a second. 

 

Dragons, how should he ever fight a dragon? There were no spells useful against dragons, at least, as long as there were not at least ten wizards and witches casting them at the same time. But he would not have a small army behind himself.  
He tried to breath deeply, to calm himself down, but it was to no use. Finally he looked up at Ron and with a weak voice asked:  
“What can I do?”  
Ron opened his mouth to answer, but before his friend could, the door to their classroom was wrenched opened and Moody limped inside.

 

“Pro...Professor... we didn't... I didn't” Ron stammered, clearly forgetting, that Moody was not a professor.  
“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter.”  
Harry watched Moodys magical eye examine the room, whilst the other one was fixed on him. He was much too surprised to wonder, why the man had chosen this moment to search them out, or why he was not yet lecturing them about cheating.

 

Suddenly Moody spoke again, hushed and with a strange hurry in his voice: “Right now, Madame Maxime and Fleur Delacour are planning the best tactic to fight a dragon, while Mr. Krum and Karkaroff practice many strong offensive spells on a practice dummy.” Moody snorted. “But they practice the wrong thing. They should practice how to steal something from under a dragon's nose.”  
“But that is...” Harry started to exclaim but than bit his lip. He would not be the only one playing fair, when no one else did, he wanted to survive and seeing how someone had entered his name, most likely to get him killed, he would use any help he could get.  
Ron glanced at him, clearly understanding hi train of though and Harry was relieved, that his friend would not criticize him.

“Have realized it now?” Moody grunted and walked over to a chair and sat down. The ex- auror stretched his wooden leg out and than said: “I will not help you, like Maxime and Karkaroff help their charges. In fact, with the help I will give you, you will have to come along on your own. There is no one else who could use it.”

 

For a moment Harry blinked in confusion, wondering, what the man meant, until he noticed Moody rummaging in one of his many pockets and pulling something out. When the ex-auror opened his hand, he revealed something, that looked like a normal chicken's egg.  
“What is it?” Harry asked, making a hesitant step towards Moody.  
“It certainly isn't what it looks like. But you will find out in a few days. If it accepts you, that is,” Moody answered and made a motion for Harry to finally take the egg.

 

Harry grabbed it carefully and noticed, that it felt more like a rock than an actual egg, it was also much heavier.  
“What do I have to do with it? Give it the dragon to eat?” He asked, still eyeing the strange egg.  
“Don't dare to feat it to a dragon! It's rare and the man whom I got it from would kill us both, if he ever found out. No, you have to carry it on your body for the next three days. Never leave it alone, so that it recognizes you as it's master. Than it will hatch and you can start to learn, how to work with it,” Moody explained.  
“O... ok,” Harry promised and pocketed the egg, glad that it didn't felt as if it would break easily.

“If it bonds with you, you will have a companion for life,” Moody said, standing up.  
Harry could only nod as he watched the ex- auror limp back to the door. Once he was there, he turned towards him one last time, saying: “And Potter, ask it what his or her name is, or it might get offended.” Then Moody was gone as sudden as he had arrived and the door felt shut with a silent click.

 

“That was wired!” Ron exclaimed as soon as Moody was gone, pulling harry from his shocked stupor.  
“It was,” Harry agreed, fingering the egg in his pocket.  
“So... er... mate, are we ok again?” Ron asked suddenly, looking embarrassed all over again.  
Harry turned to his friend and sight. He could not be angry with Ron anymore. His friend had come to his senses after all and apologized. He had also warned him about the first task and the most important point was: He needed both his friends by his side.  
“We're ok again,” he agreed with a small smile and Ron's face broke into a grin.

 

Harry grinned back, before looking at his watch and cursing. “Shit, we have to hurry or we will be too late for Umbridge's investigation of Snape.”  
“Yeah, and we won't miss that!” Ron snickered, opening the door for him.  
When they arrived five minutes later in front of their potions classroom, Hermione was already standing there. As soon as the witch saw them, she sighed in relieve. “Finally. This was starting to get stupid. Have you told him?” she breathed and waved them over.  
Apparently, Ron had told her from the letter. His friend nodded and they came to an halt next to her. 

 

“Has the golden trio reunited?” A mocking voice sounded from the other end of the corridor. Harry didn't even need to look up to know, whom the voice belonged to and simply said: “Shut up Malfoy! No one wants to hear your annoying voice. You sound like a banshee.  
Malfoy sneered. “Better than your whiny voice, Pott-head.”  
“Very good retort, Malfoy, really,” Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled Harry back around, before he could continue this stupid bickering. He wouldn't have had much time to say more regardless, because in this moment Snape opened his classroom door. The man looked even more cranky than usual and sneered at him, as he was passing the professor, but Harry had expected something like this.

 

Looking around, he found Umbridge already sitting in a gloomy corner, clip board and pink quill in hand. She sticked out like a sore thumb, with her pink robes in the dungeon and Harry couldn't even blame Snape for sneering at her. Somehow he wondered, if Umbridge really would have the guts to criticize Snape, but he supposed, he would come to know in a few minutes.  
He followed his friends to their usual seats, which were luckily at the opposite side of the witch and pulled out parchment, ink, quill and his text book, before turning to face the front, for once, he was excited about the upcoming Potions lesson.

 

“You will notice,” started Snape in his low, sneering voice, “that we have a guest with us today.” He gestured toward the dim corner of the dungeon.   
Harry glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione, he saw the same expectant gleam in their eyes. They all hated Snape with a passion, but right now they had no doubt, whom they wanted to win over the other.  
“Maybe Snape's sharp tongue will come in handy for once,” Hermione whispered silently, before Snape spoke again.

“We are continuing with our Strengthening Solutions today, you will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend — instructions” — he waved his wand again — “on the board. Carry on.” 

Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry caught himself looking over to her or Snape every so often, he wanted to know, if she would do something more then simply sitting there and watching. He was so distracted, that he was in fact becoming careless with his potion again, which was especially stupid, because for once the base of the potion had indeed turned out well.

“Salamander blood, Harry!” Hermione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient. “Not pomegranate juice!”   
“Right,” he said vaguely, putting down the bottle, blinking a few times, before finally concentrating on the next step of the recipe, at least, for the next few seconds, until he saw, that Umbridge had just gotten to her feet. 

“Ha,” he said softly, as she strode between two lines of desks toward Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas’s cauldron.   
“Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level,” she said briskly to Snape’s back. “Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus.” 

Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her, dark eyes gleaming with badly hidden hate.  
“Oh, she is in for it,” Ron muttered next to him, drooping an entirely wrong ingredient into his cauldron and making it nearly as thick as cement, with a strange greenish color.  
Harry only nodded and continued to stir his own potion, glad, that he didn't had to do anything else for the next ten minutes.

“Now... how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?” Umbridge asked, her pink quill poised over her clipboard.   
“Fourteen years,” Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable.   
“You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?” Professor Umbridge asked Snape and Harry drew in a sharp breath, every student knew, to never mention this particular topic in the presence of Snape. He could only hope, that Umbridge and not he would pay for her question, but knowing Snape, it was very likely, that the man would let out his anger at him.

“Yes,” said Snape quietly. “But you were unsuccessful?”   
Snape’s lip curled even more. “Obviously.”   
Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard again.   
“And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?”   
“Yes,” said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry.   
“Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?” asked Umbridge.   
“I suppose this is relevant?” Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed.   
“Oh yes,” said Professor Umbridge. “Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers’ — er — background... “   
“I suggest you ask him,” said Snape Jerkily.  
“Oh, I shall,” Umbridge answered with a sweet smile.

 She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked around at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was luckily still all right, only a slight shade darker than it should be. But when he looked up again, he clearly saw, that a nearly perfect potion would not save him today.

Snape came over with long steppes, looked into his cauldron with a sneer and before he could do anything, the man had vanished it with a jerk of his wands.  
Pathetic,” Snape said maliciously. “No marks again, then, Potter. You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?” 

Harry could barely keep his rage in check, but knowing that he had no chance with Snape and Umbridge in one room, he merely balled his fists and breathed through gritted teeth. “Yes.” 

“Why do you not go to Dumbledore?” Ron asked as soon as Snape was out of hearing range. “I mean, he is your father now. He surely can help you with Snape.”  
Shaking his head, Harry explained: “I don't want to start to run to Albus because of every small thing. If I do that, Snape only will be right in the end. Then I really am a whiny, spoiled brad.”   
Ron sighed and shook his head. “Mate, he has just vanished a nearly perfect potion. This is not a small thing. It is harassment. He could just fail you now, would be the same, wouldn't it? How do you know, that he won't forge you exams one day, when he already does something like this?”  
Harry knew, Ron was right, but he just wasn't the type to go to a parent for help. The whole concept of having a real guardian was still new to him and it was Albus. The man had already enough problems without the students accusing him of gaining favors from their headmaster. So he simply slumped down in his seat and watched his friends for the rest of the lesson. 

 

When Potions was over, he sat through yet another double lesson DADA with Umbridge. She seemed to be in a fairly good mood after having annoyed Severus Snape and didn't say much as she ordered them to read chapter six in their tedious textbook. 

Hermione, obviously feeling sorry for him, helped him with his extra essay for potions when classes were finally over. She said nothing, but Harry had been able to see, that she too, found the way Snape was treating him, unfair.

After dinner he fetched his broom and started to make his way down to the Quidditch pitch for training, but he was stopped by his most hated, sweet voice.  
“Hem, hem.”  
With a sigh he stopped, but didn't turn around, afraid that he would finally loose his temper and shove his broom handle down Umbridge's throat.  
“Mr. Potter, just the person I wanted to speak to,” Umbridge said sweetly and in the next moment she stepped in front of him. “And not a minute too late, I see,” she said with a look to his firebolt.

“Can I help you somehow, Professor?” he asked, trying for a neutral tone, one, which wouldn't earn him another round of detention right away.  
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Potter,” she smiled sweetly and than continued, “Today during my examination in your Potions class, I noticed, that DADA is not the only subject you struggle in.”

Harry could only stare at her. She wouldn't force him to take private lessons with her and Snape, would she?  
“And as I see, that your continuation at this school is highly threatened, I came to the conclusion, that you should not continue with Quidditch.”  
“What?” he asked incredulously, not believing, what he was hearing, but Umbridge only laughed softly. “Even with better marks, Mr. Potter, you would not be allowed to continue with this sport. Starting tomorrow, every student, who has been giving detention, will loose their rights of free time activities.”

Still only able to stare, he watched as Umbridge turned on the spot and left with a piped “A good evening, then.”  
His broom had fallen out of his hands and he couldn't decide between crying and cursing Umbridge. No Quidditch anymore? He couldn't believe that! And even worse, Fred, George and who knew how many more players would be forbidden to continue playing. The only people who probably would be left to play were most likely students like Hermione. This season was dead, there was no way to describe it differently. 

 

Feeling utterly powerless, he picked up his broom and slumped down at the bottom of the marvel staircase. He couldn't have said, how long he had been sitting there, when finally two voices pulled him from his nightmare-like state.  
“Hey Harry, where have you been?” the twins' voice echoed through the entrance hall. Looking up, he saw them striding toward him, with their brooms over their shoulders.  
“Umbridge has kicked me out of the team,” he said, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears.  
“What?!” Exclaimed Fred and George added: “Why?”  
But he didn't answer their question, instead saying: “You will be forbidden too. No one who ever had detention this year is allowed to continue with clubs.”

Two loud, wooden sounds told him, that Fred and George had just dropped their brooms like he had done earlier.  
“But than... than...” Fred stammered. “Who is going to play?” George ended his brother's stuttering.  
“I don't know,” he answered, shaking his head. “I guess we can quit this season.”  
“But there will be no single house able to play,” George said, slumping down next to Harry, who only said: “Yeah.”  
“I can't believe it!” Fred exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in a desperate gesture.   
“One day...” both of them said. “One day... we will...”

For the first time since Umbridge revelation Harry perked up. “What will you do? Have you planned another prank? The last one was really brilliant.”  
“Not yet,” the twins answered in unison. “But we will! And it will be huge! Something you never have seen before!”  
This finally lifted his mood. “You have to tell me what you will do.”  
George shook his head. “No way! Then it's no surprise anymore!”   
“You're right,” Harry grinned and then said, “Let's go back to the common room, my arse is getting numb because of this bloody staircase.”  
Fred hold out a hand for him and he quickly grabbed it, letting himself being pulled up.  
“Oi, Harry! You're a featherweight!” 

 

Flushing, Harry cleared his throat. It was true, his glamours did not effect his weight, that meant, he weighed around 28,6 pounds, which wasn't much, in fact, it was underweight, curtsey of the Dursleys.   
He had been lucky, that his adoptive father hadn't noticed anything that day in McGonagall's office, but the man had luckily been too distracted by his sudden colaps. 

They climbed up the stairs and Fred and George started with plans of revenge on Umbridge. The two joined him in front of the fireplace, where Ron and Hermione were sitting, where they continued their rent.

“She is going too far!” Hermione said, ten minutes later, when Fred and George had finally shut up and Harrys friends had puzzled together, what they had been saying.  
“Can she control our free time?” Ron asked with a miserable look on his face.  
Finding that a good question, Harry looked expectantly to his brainy friend, so did the twins. Hermione sighed, before pinching the bridge of her nose and saying: “She can, at least, as soon as clubs are concerned. However, she can not control what we do otherwise in our free time.”

Harrys eyes widened. “So, if we leave our uniforms in our lockers and use a simple field instead of the Quidditch pitch...” he concluded, but was interrupted by a loud exclamation of: “I will owl all captains!”

Startled, Harry looked up, only to find that Oliver Wood must have joined them sometimes during their conversation. He was sitting in an armchair a bit to their left and was now jumping to his feet, declaring: “Quidditch will not die because of that toad, I am sure even the Slytherins will agree. They will have even less player than we, after all.”  
Before Harry could say anything to him, Oliver had disappeared a moment later up the stairs to his dormitory.

“Well,” Ron grinned, “I guess Quidditch will be continued.”  
Harry, Fred and George started all snickering, maraudish gleams in their eyes.  
Having suddenly an idea, Harry stood up as well, announcing: “Oh, I have to write Padfoot about it! He will love our little rebellion!”   
“Will you go upstairs then?” Ron asked, checking his watch.  
“Yeah, I guess. It is not that early anymore and I bet I have to attend a Quidditch conference tomorrow,” he answered.  
“I will see you then tomorrow,” Hermione smiled. “Good night.  
“Good night,” Harry smiled back, before leaving the twins and his two best friends.

Up in his dormitory he pulled some parchment and a quill from his schoolbag, before starting to write the short letter to Sirius. He was sure his godfather would be happy to hear that he and the others were fighting back against Umbridge. There were also other things he wanted to write him. So he wrote:

Dear Padfoot,  
Ron apologized today and we are good again. He realized, that this tournament is not all glory, when his brother Charley told him, that he will be bringing dragons to Hogwarts for the first task.  
Apparently cheating is fairly common, at least that is what Moody told me, before giving me a strange egg. It looks like a chicken's egg, but is much heavier, I am wondering what it is. Moody told me, that it would hatch in about three days, if, that is, it accepts me as his master, but he wouldn't tell me, what creature is inside.   
Just when everything seemed to get better, Umbridge pulled a new stunt just now. After tomorrow, no student who has already sat in detention this year, will be allowed to take part in any clubs, which means, no Quidditch for me. She already pulled me out today, saying that I need to concentrate on my studies more, because my bad Potions and DADA marks are threatening my continuation at Hogwarts.  
What a load of bullshit! We didn't even have any exams yet and I am free of them because of my participation in her bloody tournament.  
Fred, George and my Quidditch captain Oliver were furious, so will be the other teams, there will be not many players left, but of course we will not accept it. She can, after all, only make us leave official clubs. That is why Oliver is now planning on opening the Quidditch teams privately again. We will have no pitch, no uniforms and how we will get the balls I don't know yet, but I am fairly sure, that even the Slytherins will agree.

I hope you are well,  
Harry

The letter had turned out much longer than he had planned. Rolling it into a scroll, he opened the window and gave a loud whistle. Sometimes, when Hedwig was near by to hear him whistling, she would come and spare him the trip to the owlery. He was lucky this evening and Hedwig landed on the windowsill only a minute later. She hooted softly in greeting, looking at his head as if checking that there wasn't another impertinent owl sitting there.  
“Don't worry, Hedwig,” Harry smiled and stroked her feathers, “I am all yours.”  
She hooted in satisfaction and stretched her leg out.  
“It's for Sirius. I know it is dark already, but be careful, just in case his hiding place is watched,” he said softly. Hedwig gave a nip to his finger, before turning around and leaping into the air. A moment later she had disappeared into the darkness.

Harry stood for a moment longer at the window, letting the cold night air caress his cheeks. When the soft caress changed into harsh pinching, he closed the window again and changed into his night shirt, before climbing into bed.   
Like every evening, he closed the curtains, sealed them shot and ended his glamours, before sighing in relieve. He then closed his eyes and started to tell the presence in his mind about his day. It was a habit he had developed during his time without Ron and it always calmed him down, even so, it was a fairly one-sided conversation.

He was careful to never give too important informations away, informations, which could be used to identify him as Harry Potter, because even though he trusted his friend, he also knew, that it would be foolish to trust an unknown presence in his mind blindly.

…

When he arrived with Ron and Hermione at breakfast the next morning, Oliver was already impatiently waiting for him.  
“There you are, Potter,” his captain greeted him and pulled him, without missing a beat, onto the chair next to him.  
Ginny, who had arrived at the same time as he at the table scowled first at Oliver and then at Ron, when the her brother occupy the other seat next to him. Luckily Dean joined them than and forced her to focus her attention on him.

“Harry, we captains will meet today after classes for a conference. Umbridge has already pinned her Education Decree to the blackboard. Yesterday they were fairly disbelieving, but today they are pissed. If everything goes well, we can start training in two or three days again.”  
“That's good,” Harry said, leading his plate with sausages. “I really need Quidditch as an outlet with all the shit that is going on, or I might hex Umbridge to her next life.”  
Oliver snickered and pulled a bowl with eggs toward him himself. “I can understand that. She is a pest.”   
No one at the table said something against it and the rest of breakfast went by in silence. At ten to nine Hermione got to her feet and reminded him and Ron: “We should go now. Umbridge will investigate McGonagall. She will have our heads if we are late.”  
“You're right,” Harry said and took his bag. He waved at Oliver, who gave him a sympathetic look, before making his way to the Transfigurations classroom with his friends.  
McGonagall was indeed already there and the classroom door stood open. His head of house looked especially thin-lipped today and even more annoyed than Snape had yesterday. Harry made a mental note to not do something, that could set McGonagall off, as he sat down in his usual seat.

Hermione glanced at her as well, before leaning over to him and whispering: “The sorting head always sings about uniting the houses. It seems, all that was missing was Umbridge.”  
Harry snickered, but immediately fell silent, when McGonagall's sharp eyes landed on him, warning evident in that single look. She than went into her office, probably to avoid having to face Umbridge too early.   
One minute later Umbridge arrived, clipboard already in hand and announced her arrival with her usual “hem, hem,” but no one reacted and McGonagall was still gone.

Only when it was time for classes to start, marched Professor McGonagall back into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Umbridge was there.   
“That will do,” she said and silence fell immediately. “Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework — Miss Brown, please take this box of mice — don’t be silly, girl, they won’t hurt you — and hand one to each student —” 

“Hem, hem,” said Professor Umbridge, again, making all students cringe.   
Professor McGonagall ignored her and Seamus handed back Harry’s essay; He took it without looking at him and saw, to his relief, that he had managed an A, at least in one class he was doing well. They had luckily finished the topic of transfiguring objects into living beings one week ago.

He quickly put his essay into his back and focused back on McGonagall, who was continuing with her instruction: “Right then, everyone, listen closely — Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention — most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be —”   
“Hem, hem,” said Professor Umbridge, the sound piercing Harrys ears like a needle and when he looked around, he saw that he was not the only one who felt this way. Next to him Ron and Hermione were biting their bottom lips and across the room Seamus had pressed both of his hands to his ears.

 

McGonagall seemed finally to decide, that she could ignore Umbridge no longer, or maybe, that Umbridge would only continue with that stupid sound, because she turned around, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line and asked pointedly: “Yes? Do you need a coughing-bonbon, Dolores?” 

Silent snorts and snickers went through the class. Harry could practically see Umbridge grind her teeth together, but somehow she was managing her sweet voice: “I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec —”   
“Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom,” said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Professor Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee and Harry had to try hard to suppress a snicker. He was sure Umbridge would not let him get away with it.

“As I was saying, today we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell —”   
“Hem, hem.”   
“I wonder,” said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, “how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.”   
Harry was suddenly glad, that he had never truly crossed his head of house.  
Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, while Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more, seemingly unimpressed and without a worry. 

“As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So — you know the incantation, let me see what you can do...” 

“Brilliant,” Harry said with a broad grin, as soon as his classmate started with their practice and it was getting louder in the room. He glanced over at Umbridge, waiting for her to stand up, but she did not follow McGonagall around the class as she had done with Snape; perhaps she thought that Professor McGonagall would not permit it. Why Snape had done so, was a question, he could not answer. She did, however, take many more notes while she sat in her corner, and when McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, rose with a grim expression on her face.

“Well, it’s a start,” said Ron, holding up a long, wriggling mouse tail and dropped it back into the box Lavender was passing around. As they filed out of the classroom, Harry saw Umbridge approach the teacher’s desk and he nudged Ron, who nudged Hermione in turn. The three of them deliberately fell back to eavesdrop. 

“How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?” Professor Ubridge asked.  
 “Thirty-nine years this December,” said Professor McGonagall brusquely, snapping her   bag shut. Umbridge made another note, before saying: “Very well, you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days’ time.” 

“I can hardly wait,” said Professor McGonagall in a coldly indifferent voice, and she strode off toward the door. “Hurry up, you three,” she added, sweeping Harry, Ron, and Hermione before her. Harry could not help giving her a grin and could have sworn he received a wink in return.

He and Ron hurried to Devination, because they were already late after listening in, the only reassurance they had was, that Umbridge was late as well.  
“You have to tell me what she said to Trelawney,” Hermione shouted after them, as they ran down the corridors. They arrived shortly before Umbridge and were sitting down on a pair of fluffy, orange pillows when she came in, obviously disgruntled by the ladder, but when she addressed Trelawney, her voice was honey-like as ever.   
“Good afternoon, Professor Trelawney. You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?” 

Professor Trelawney nodded curtly and, looking very disgruntled, turned her back on Umbridge and started to give out books. Still smiling, Umbridge grasped the back of the nearest armchair and pulled it to the front of the class so that it was a few inches behind Professor Trelawney’s seat. She then sat down, took her clipboard from her flowery bag, and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin. 

Professor Trelawney pulled her shawls tight about her with slightly trembling hands and surveyed the class through her hugely magnifying lenses. “We shall be continuing our study of prophetic deja-vues today,” she said in a brave attempt at her usual mystic tones, though her voice shook slightly. “Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other’s latest visions with the aid of the Oracle.”   
Harry watched, as she made as though to sweep back to her seat, saw Umbridge sitting right beside it, and immediately veered left toward Parvati and Lavender, who were already deep in discussion about Parvati’s most recent deja-vue. 

Harry opened his copy of the Oracle, watching Umbridge covertly. She was making notes on her clipboard now.   
“I don't think Trelawney has the back bone to stand up against her,” he whispered to Ron, who looked around and then nodded.  
“I really think Trelawney is a huge joke, but she doesn't deserve Umbridge. I mean, she teaches this stupid subject, but she is never mean or unfair,” the red head whispered back.  
Harry looked back at the toad again, not bothering with his false deja-vue experiences and after a few minutes Umbridge got to her feet and began to pace the room in Trelawney’s wake, listening to her conversations with students and posing questions here and there. 

When she came near him, he quickly bend back over his book, pretending as though he was looking up something in the Oracle.  
“Think of something, quick,” he told Ron, “in case the old toad asks us something, or makes Trelawney interpret one of our deja-vues.”   
“I did it last time,” protested Ron, “it’s your turn, you tell me one.”   
“Oh, I dunno . . .” said Harry desperately, who could not remember having experienced a deja-vue even once. “Let’s say.... when I looked in my cauldron yesterday, I suddenly saw how I drowned a greasy, black haired git in there, even though I have never done that. Yeah, that’ll do... and I certainly would enjoy drowning Snape in one of his beloved potions.”   
Ron chortled as he opened his Oracle.   
“Okay, we’ve got to add the exact date you had this deja-vue, the number of letters in the subject… would that be ‘drowning’ or ‘cauldron’ or ‘Snape’ or 'git'?” 

Harry snorted, before answering: “It doesn’t matter, pick any of them.”   
He glanced behind himself to check, how near Umbridge was now. She was still standing at Professor Trelawney’s shoulder making notes while the Divination teacher questioned Neville about his dream diary, which meant, she was only one coffee table away from them.

“Last Potions lesson you said? That was yesterday and yesterday was the first...” Ron muttered under his breath, immersed in calculations.   
Harry simply nodded absentmindedly, trying to listen to what Umbridge was saying to Professor Trelawney. She was making another note on her clipboard and Trelawney was looking extremely put out, it didn't boat well in Harry's opinion. 

“Now,” said Umbridge, looking up at Trelawney, “you’ve been in this post how long, exactly?”   
Professor Trelawney scowled at her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as though wishing to protect herself as much as possible from the indignity of the inspection. After a slight pause in which she seemed to decide that the question was not so offensive that she could reasonably ignore it, she said in a deeply resentful tone, “Nearly sixteen years.”   
“Quite a period,” said Professor Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. “So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?”   
“That’s right,” said Professor Trelawney shortly.   
Professor Umbridge made another note.   
“And you are a great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?”   
“Yes,” said Professor Trelawney, holding her head a little higher. Another note on the clipboard. “But I think — correct me if I am mistaken — that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of second sight?”   
“These things often skip — er — three generations,” said Professor Trelawney and Harry had to squash another snort that was threatening to rise.  
Professor Umbridge’s toad-like smile widened. “Of course,” she said sweetly, making yet another note. “Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?” She looked up inquiringly, still smiling. 

Professor Trelawney had stiffened as though unable to believe her ears.“I don’t understand you,” said Professor Trelawney, clutching convulsively at the shawl around her scrawny neck.   
“I’d like you to make a prediction for me,” said Professor Umbridge very clearly. 

Harry and Ron were not the only people watching and listening sneakily from behind their books now; most of the class were staring transfixed at Professor Trelawney as she drew herself up to her full height, her beads and bangles clinking.   
“The Inner Eye does not See upon command!” she said in scandalized tones.   
“I see,” said Professor Umbridge softly, making yet another note on her clipboard.   
“I — but — but . . . wait!” said Professor Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. “I . . . I think I do see something . . . something that concerns you. . . . Why, I sense something . . . something dark . . . some grave peril . . .” 

Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Umbridge who continued to smile blandly at her, eyebrows raised.   
“I am afraid . . . I am afraid that you are in grave danger!” Professor Trelawney finished dramatically.   
There was a pause. Professor Umbridge’s eyebrows were still raised.   
“Right,” she said softly, scribbling on her clipboard once more. “Well, if that’s really the best you can do . . .” She turned away, leaving Trelawney standing rooted to the spot, her chest heaving. 

Harry caught Ron’s eye and knew that Ron was thinking exactly the same as he was: They both knew that Trelawney was an old fraud, but on the other hand, they loathed Umbridge so much that they felt very much on Trelawney’s side, like they had said before — until she swooped down on them a few seconds later, that was. 

“Well?” she said, snapping her long fingers under Harry’s nose, uncharacteristically brisk. “Let me see the start you’ve made on your deja-vue diary, please.”   
And by the time she had interpreted Harry’s deja-vue about drowning Snape at the top of her voice (all of which, even the ones that involved eating porridge, apparently foretold a gruesome and early death), he was feeling much less sympathetic toward her. 

All the while, Umbridge stood a few feet away in her pink glory, making notes on that clipboard, and when the bell rang she descended the silver ladder first so that she was waiting for them all when they reached their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson ten minutes later, which was once again unbearable.

When Harry climbed into the common after DADA was finally over, he was immediately pulled into a corner by Oliver and the twins.  
“Harry, we've done it!” Oliver whispered loudly with a broad grin. “The Slytherin captain will owl his father to send his personal bludgers, I will organize a snitch and a Ravenclaw will provide quaffels. We can train again at the weekend!”   
“Do you know already where we will play?” asked Harry, now as giddy as his captain and Fred and George.  
Oliver shrugged: “There is enough lawn around Hogwatrs. Maybe in front of the greenhouses, there is enough space there, we only have to find a spell to protect them, or Sprout will kill us.”  
“Oh, I can search for one,” Hermione said, who had just popped up next to him.  
“That would be great, Granger,” Oliver said.  
Ron joined as well and asked: “So, will you all resign before forming new teams?”  
His brothers nodded. “It will be more a symbolic thing, but we will all write her, Dumbledore and our head of houses a resignation letter,” they explained in unison.  
“You should do that until Friday, Harry,” Oliver said, turning his attention back to him.

The small group finally dissolved and Harry sat down with his friends near the fireplace to do some homework in the next few hours. He had been lazy with his assignments and had now to do a nightshift, but Ron had done the same, so they at least suffered together. It was already past midnight when he finally dragged his tired legs up to the dormitory, closely followed by his friend. Hermione had already gone to bed over an hour ago, so she wasn't there.

…

The next day he had Umbridge sitting in on Flittwick's class, but for once she merely made notes and only asked very few questions. It wasn't really surprising, because the small professor was a good teacher, who was not showing his displeasure with her investigation in any way or form. Flittwick's ivestigation would be the last one for this week and he was honestly glad about it. Having to see Umbridge so much more was getting annoying.

On Friday he was sitting in History of Magic. This afternoon he would meat with his former Quidditch team mates and practice for the first time since Umbridge's newest decree. The news about the official resolution of every team had spread like a wildfire these last days, but until know, no word had apparently reached Umbridge. At least he believed so, because the toad would surely have searched them all out, which she hadn't.

He was nearly fallen asleep, when a movement in his trouser pocket suddenly jolted him awake. He reached for his pocket and suddenly remembered the odd egg he still carried around. He had already wondered, if it would hatch at all, because the three days had been over on Wednesday. He was already planning to throw it away after this weekend, if it wouldn't give him a sign of life, but apparently it did now.

Hastily he pulled it from his pocket and placed it into his lap, carful to shield it from his friends gazes, just in case, he didn't knew what was inside after all and he wanted the creature, what ever it was, to bond with him and not with Ron or Hermione.

Fine cracks had spread all over the shell and in the next moment a single piece flew off of it. A black, forked tongue appeared and a hiss came from the inside.  
“Master, are you there?”  
“I am here,” Harry hissed back silently. Next to him Ron looked tiredly up, but he shook his head to indicate, that he would explain later.  
“Master, hold your finger out, so that I can bind with you and become harmless to you,” the tiny snake hissed. Slowly Harry got worried, what kind of snake could Moody have given him, which needed to become harmless to him before emerging from it's egg. He didn't knew any kind of snake with a black tongue, but he stretched his finger out regardless, it wouldn't poison him, hopefully.  
As soon as his right index finger hovered over the opening of the egg, two tiny, sharp fangs sank into his skin. He drew his finger back with a hiss, the snake let go and as he looked down on the bruised appendage, he saw something like a black tattoo forming around the base of his finger like a tattoo. It was a beautiful, interwind pattern and made him nearly forget the burning of the bit. His newest familiar must be poisonous, but as promised, he didn't feel the effect, aside from the burning, which already started to fate.

The snake hissed again and when he looked down a second time, the black tongue was followed by a white head, with glistening, black, coal-like eyes and a crown of shimmering black feathers on it's head. A gasp escaped him, as he finally recognized what kind of snake he had just bounded to.

“You are a basilisk!” he hissed in surprise, quickly averting his eyes, even though it had promised him to be harmless, at least for him.  
“I am a binding basilisk. We can bind to humans as familiars,” the basilisk answered and than added, it's voice sounding slightly annoyed, “Don't fear me, I told you, I will bring you no harm. My eyes are not deadly for you anymore.”  
“And what is with my friends? My classmates?” Harry hissed back, slight panic evident in his voice.  
“Do you want them unharmed?” The snake asked.  
“Yes!” He retorted vehemently.

“Look at me,” the basilisk instructed and as he looked back at the white creature, he saw something like a black net sliding over it's eyes. “We are different from normal basilisks,” it explained. “We are deadly, but we do not have to be.”  
“Good,” Harry retorted, his voice still a bit shaky. Even though he was a parselmouth, finding a basilisk hatching in his lap had been a huge shock. His second year at Hogwarts had taught him that being able to speak with snake didn't help with basilisks necessarily. 

“You will only use your eyes and fangs, when I say so,” Harry ordered the snake, hoping that it would listen to him, he was, after all it's master.  
“When someone is harming you I will attack as well,” the basilisk hissed back.  
“But only if they trie to kill me. Don't kill Malfoy only because he tries to pull some stupid pranks on me.”  
“Yes master, I will only frightened that one.”

Remembering what moody had instructed him to asked, he cleared his throat before asking: “Do you have a name?”  
“My name is Zaida, Master,” the basilisk answered.  
“That's a beautiful name,” Harry told her and Zaida seemed pleased.   
“Can I sleep for a while, Master?” she asked and when Harry nodded, thinking that hatching was probably tiring. He watched her slither out of her egg completely and curled around his wrist, where she stilled and turned gold, as if she was nothing more than a bracelet.

For a moment he blinked stupidly at his new familiar, who was not recognizable as a living being now. She had even turned hard and cold like real gold. Binding basilisks truly seemed differed from the one he had encountered in the Chamber of Secrets.

Carefully he took the, now empty, egg shell and placed it on his desk.  
“Has it hatched?” Ron asked curiously.  
“It has,” Harry affirmed.  
“And, what is it?” asked Hermione, leaning over a bit, so that she would better be able to listen from her seat beside Ron.

“A binding basilisk,” Harry whispered, hoping that his friends wouldn't flip out, but of course they did. It was, after all, not a daily occurrence, that a basilisk hatched in the middle of History of Magic.  
Hermione gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth and Ron exclaimed “A what?”   
Luckily their fellow classmates were by now too deeply asleep to be awoken easily.   
“A binding basilisk. But she has promised not to harm you,” he told them.  
“Not to harm us?” Hermione asked incredulously. “How will it do that? I mean, its eyes are deadly and snakes doesn't even have eyelids. So how?”

“Calm down,” Harry tried to sooth her, but with not much success. By now she had turned her head away from him and was staring at her table top to avoid accidentally looking at his familiar and Ron was following her example.  
“She is not a normal basilisk. She can... lower something like a net over her eyes. She has promised me to not kill,” Harry tried to explain, but wasn't sure, if he was doing a good job.  
“Are you sure, mate?” Ron asked hesitatingly.  
“Yeah, I am. I am her master now. Am I not?” Harry grinned and finally Ron said: “Ok,” and Hermione too, looked up again, now looking rather curious.

“So, it's a she?” she asked.  
“Yes, her name is Zaida,” he affirmed.  
“Did you give her the name?” Hermione asked, leaning over again, clearly searching for the snake.  
“No, she just told me.”  
“Where is she?” Ron asked and Harry stretched out his right arm, where Zaida was sleeping now.  
“That's her?” Hermione asked, her eyes growing huge in awe.  
“Yeah, she is white normally. With a black feather crown and black eyes,” Harry told his friends.  
“She really is different,” Hermione mused, still eyeing Zaida. “Maybe we should go outside after class and talk with her a bit. I mean, didn't Moody tell you, she would help you with the dragons? She seems still awfully small.”  
“Maybe she can grow?” Ron suggested.  
“Maybe,” Harry agreed, before saying: “Going outside is a good idea. I don't think that the others would be thrilled if I start to talk to a basilisk in our common room.”  
“Yeah,” Ron snickered, “you would need to go to the Slytherins for that. And even they would be freaked out as soon as they notice she isn't just a snake... thinking of it, it's a good idea.”  
“Ron!” Hermione gasped, but was interrupted by the bell.

They packed their things and Harry lead the way outside.  
“Where shall we go exactly?” he asked with a look to Hermione.  
“Maybe to the edge of the Forbidden Forrest, near Hagrid's hut? No one will see us there,” she proposed.  
“Good idea and we can say hello to Hagrid if he is there,” Harry agreed.

Thick clouds were once again covering the sky when they stepped outside, but it didn't rain. There weren't many students on the ground, which suited Harry perfectly well. He didn't knew his new familiar yet and couldn't say, what she was able to do, so it was better this way. The path down to Hagrid's hut was still dry. Even though it had looked many times these last days, as if it would start to rain any moment, it still hadn't until now.

When he was near enough to see Hagrid's home clearly, he noticed the dark window, apparently he was not there.   
“Maybe he is outside,” Ron said with a frown.  
“Yeah, probably in the forrest, or giving Maxime's horses their whiskey,” Harry snickered.   
Hermione only huffed and muttered: “unbelievable,” before turning sharply right and leading them to a group of trees.

Harry placed his schoolbag beneath a tree, so did his friends, before they started to stare expectantly at him.  
“Well, wake her,” Hermione prompted, when he only stared back, momentarrily forgetting what they had come out for.  
Laughing sheepishly he shoved his right sleeve up and looked down on the sleeping serpent, before hissing: “Zaida, wake up.”  
Zaida didn't react, she was apparently to tired. Stroking with one finger over her crowned head, he repeated: “Zaida, wake up.”   
Zaida's black eyes focused and as she uncurled, her body returned to it's white color.  
Hermione gasped in amazement and Ron whistled.  
“She is beautiful,” Hermione said and stepped a bit closer.  
Harry nodded. “She is.”

“Master, how can I help you?” Zaida asked, still looking rather sleepily.  
“My friends and I would like to talk to you for a bit. Would that be ok?”  
Zaider lifted her head and looked over to his friends, making Ron flinch in natural panic.”What is it?” she asked then.

Harry thought for a moment about how to explain, what he needed and finally said. “The man who gave you to me, said, that you would be able to help me with a task.”  
“If I can, I will,” Zaider nodded her small head. “What task?”  
“I have somehow gotten into an magical competition and my first task will be fighting against a dragon,” Harry explained further. He watched the small basilisk closely, but Zaida looked fairly unimpressed.   
“I can do that. Dragons are afraid of my kind. They know our deathly eyes and poisonous fangs,” she hissed.

Turning back to his friends, Harry told them: “Zaida says, she can help me with the dragon. Apparently dragons are not immune against basilisks either, so it's some natural kind of fear, I guess.”  
“That's great, mate!” Ron beamed, but Hermione looked doubtful and was chewing her bottom lip.  
Harry waited for a moment, but when it became clear, that she wouldn't say anything without prompting, he asked: “What is it, Mione?”   
She shook her head, as if she really didn't want to doubt the proud, but very small basilisk, but finally she said: “Isn't she still a bit small?”

Looking down at Zaida, Harry had to admit again, that she was. So careful to not sound insulting, he translated Hermione's question. When he was finished, Zaida looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Of course I am small right now, how will you carry me otherwise?” She hissed and started to slither down his wrist. As her body left his, she slowly grew until a nearly 17 feet long snake laid curled around him. Her huge scales were glistening in the dim sunlight like nacre and her eyes were shimmering like huge, black diamonds.

Stretching a hand out, Harry stroked carefully over her upper body and he gasped in surprise at how soft she was and how warm.

“Well, that should take care of the matter,” Ron said, but Harry didn't listen, because Zaida was speaking once again.  
“I am still young, so I can not yet grow as much as I will be able to in a few years, but for a dragon it should be enough,” she said, sounding huffily. Harry cringed silently, he had forgotten how arrogant most snakes tended to be.  
“Can I go hunting, Master?” Zaida asked suddenly, with a look towards the trees.  
“Will you be able to find me again?” Harry asked in surprise.  
“Of course, I am bound to you, Master,” his familiar hissed and Harry was certain, that she rolled her pitch black eyes.  
“Than you can, but be careful that no one sees you,”  
Zaida nodded and slithered with enormous speed into the forrest.

“Where is she going?” Hermione asked, looking after the basilisk.  
“She want's to hunt,” Harry said with a glance to his watch. “I should go and get my broom, or I will be late for the first training.  
Hermione's eyes grew wide and she gasped: “I still have to apply the protection spells to the green houses!”  
“Than let's meet in front of them in... let's say 20 minutes?” Harry suggested, but Hermione was already running off and only turned shortly to shout: “Ok!”  
Shrugging, Harry turned to Ron.  
“I am sure, she hasn't really heard you,” Ron grinned.  
“No, she hasn't,” Harry answered and they made their way back up to the castle.

Once back in their dormitory, Harry quickly changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of trunks, before grabbing his firebold and going with Ron back outside.  
When they arrived at the greenhouses, a huge crowd of students had already gathered there, it almost seemed, that the whole castle had come, probably all curious, if Umbridge would show up. Even some Beauxbatons and Durmstrang pupils were there. To the far left and the far right he could see something, that looked like six floating hoops, probably the goalposts for the chasers.  
Oliver stood, with the rest of the former Gryffindor team, next to, what seemed a group, consisting of the other teams.   
“I will see you later,” Harry said with a wave to Ron and went over to join them. Every player was grinning broadly and somewhat wickedly.

“There you are,” Oliver greeted him and pressed something into his hand. Holding it up, Harry saw that it was a red fabric band, about 2 inches in diameter and with the inscription Team Red. Looking around, he noticed, that every team had those bands, only in different colors: The Slytherin band's were green, Hufflepuff had yellow and Rawenclaw blue. 

“A girl named Luna made them. She said you know her,” Oliver explained, before whistling loudly to get everyone's attention:  
“Let's start then. Today Team Red and Team Green will play a practice game. I know, we always were rivals, but threatened by one collective opponent, we shall forget this rivalry for the sake of the sport!”

Loud applause followed his words. Harry saw Malfoy sneer, but the Slytherin captain was actually clapping alongside everybody else. The crowd and the other teams backed away, until Team Red and Team Green stood alone in the middle of the field in front of the green houses with two wooden boxes. Oliver opened the first one and took out the quaffels, throwing them to the chasers. Next he opened the second box and quickly jumped to the side, when the two bludgers shot out. He than grabbed into his pocket, producing a smaller box, made from some kind of red wood and released the snitch. 

Umbridge had not showed up yet and it seamed, that at least the players had all but forgotten about her by now.

Harry mounted his broom, so did Malfoy and they shot into the air simultaneously. Harry immediately started to circle the makeshift pitch. There was no commentator, so he couldn't tell, if any team had already made a goal or not, so he simply concentrated on his task. A bludger shot his way, but he quickly ducked and avoided the black ball easily.  
“So, this was your idea?” Malfoy's voice suddenly sneered behind him.   
Sighing, Harry turned his broom around. “Not really, I only made a comment.”  
“Yeah, yeah, Saint Potter saves quidditch,” Draco curled his lip disdainfully.  
“You don't need to play with us you know?” Harry shot back, quickly getting annoyed with the prat.   
“And let you have all the victories? No way, scar-head.”  
Harry laughed, Malfoy was just too funny. “You mean, because you are always a serious opponent for me?” Malfoy opened his mouth again, but before the prat could continue with his stupid insults, he turned back around and dropped into an Wrinsky Faint to shake him off.

Flying over to the other side of the pitch, he started his circling once more and did so without a bother for the next twenty minutes, until loud whispers reached his ears and he looked down.   
The students beneath all crained their necks and glanced over in the direction of the castle, some were even pointing at something. Following their line of sighed, Harry saw a pink shape coming rapidly nearer, closely followed, by what had to be Professor McGonagall and his adoptive father followed the two woman in an more leisurely pace.

McGonagall was going so quickly, that Harry would have need to jog to keep up with her, but Umbridge obviously had a good head start. Looking up again, he searched for Oliver and quickly flew over when he had spotted him.  
“Oliver, Umbridge is coming!” He shouted above the wind.  
“Is she?” Oliver said, sounding ready for the fight. His captain whistled than and immediately the players of both teams looked over to him.  
“She is coming,” he shouted and they all lowered their brooms.   
Harry quickly followed their example and landed between Oliver and Fred. By now the crowd was parting in the middle, making a path for the clearly enraged Umbridge. She stormed up to them, her ugly bow askew on her head and her face flushed with anger and exhaustion, after having stumped all the way up to the greenhouses.

She stopped directly in front of him and wood and behind her, Harry could see smirks firming on the other student's faces. This was why they had all come. They all wanted to witness, how their friends put their hated DADA Professor a nudge down or two.

“You!” She hissed, shoving her fat finger nearly in Harry's face, but he didn't stepp back.  
“And You and you and you!”   
Harry couldn't suppress the lifting of one eyebrow, as she started to shriek and point at numerous students from Gryffindor, Slytherin, Rawenclaw and Hufflepuff.  
“You are all breaking school rules! Club activities--”  
“We are no Clup,” Harry interrupted her sweetly. “We are only some friends, playing quidditch in our free time. Or do you see us using the quidditch pitch? Or any uniforms? Or the school balls?”

Umbridge turned on him and sneered. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust, when some of her spittle hit him, but still, he did not back an inch away.  
“So, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge spat out his name, as if it was something dirty. “It is a coincident, that only former quidditch player are playing here?”  
“Of course not, quidditch is the reason, why we are friends. Its where we've gotten to know each other,” he shrugged, as if board with the conversation, but inwardly, his heart was racing in excitement. Finally he could give some of the humiliation back she had cost him. His whole body was humming in joy and a kind of pleasure, he had never felt before. 

“Here are to much people! It has to be a club!” Umbridge exclaimed, her finger back in his face.  
“So, we only are allowed to have five friends? Or are five already to much?” Harry sneered back.  
“Professor Umbridge! This is going too far!” snapped suddenly Professor McGonagall from behind Umbridge. She had finally caught up. “They have all quit their club work, thus your accusations are unfounded.” McGonagall straightened herself to her full hight, which was much more impressive than Umbridge's and looked now sternly down at her unpopular colleague. 

“They are only doing this to anger me!” Umbridge shrieked, as if she was a three year old, whom someone had just stolen her teddy bear.   
McGonagall only huffed. “Of course they are. This new rule is a bad joke!”

Harry caught Ron's and Hermione's gazes then. His friends stood a bit to his right, both sporting huge grins and finally, his own grin broke loose, but he quickly concentrated back on the two witches in front of him, when Umbridge started to shriek again.  
“A joke? A joke? You call it a joke, when the Education Minister's rules are not being followed? Oh I warn you, Minerva, you have just dick your own grave! I will write the Minister about this.”

To Harry's and everybody else's surprise, McGonagall only laughed.  
His adoptive father however, who had arrived a few minutes ago, seemed to decide that the dispute was going to far and finally stepped in: “Now, now, my dear Professors. This is an argument, we can quickly solve by a look in our school rules.” Albus waved a hand and a huge and heavy looking tomb appeared hovering in front of him. He pointed his wand at it and then said: “There it is... Clubs... A Club is defined as a group of students, who use school properties for their activities.” 

Those twinkling eyes settled on Oliver and Albus asked: “Are these balls you use from our school?”  
Oliver didn't hesitate to answer: “No, Professor. Our parents send them over.”  
“Are those ribbons you are wearing from our school?”   
“No, Luna made them.”  
“Are those loops from our school?”  
“No, Professor.”  
“Very well. This is obviously no club,” Albus smiled and gave Harry a wink.

Lout jeering and clapping erupted all around them and Harry's grin broadened even further, this had made it crystal clear, they had won. McGonagall was grinning smugly and his adoptive father smiled with this maraudish twinkle back in his eyes, while Umbridge looked, as if she would explode any moment. 

The jeering grew louder and louder, until voices started to shout: “Umbridge lost! Umbridge lost! Umbridge lost!”  
Harry watched in glee, as Umbridge turned on her heels and stamped back to the castle, followed by more boos. Suddenly he was swept off his feet by both of his friends, who embraced him in a tight group-hug.  
“You did it mate!” Ron shouted into his ear. “You did it!”   
Harry couldn't answer, he was smiling too broadly. Oliver came over and clapped him onto his back, quickly followed by Fred and George and even a few students from the other houses.

When the tumult had died down, his adoptive father cleared his throat and said: “I believe, a victory deserves to be celebrated.”

The group of students instantly turned toward the castle with more loud cheering. Harry was lead back by Ron and George, who each had an arm around his shoulder. Umbridge was nowhere in sighed, when they entered Hogwarts again and the students started to split up to go back to their common rooms. 

A boy with blond hair, striding alone in front of him, caught Harry's attention suddenly and following an impulse, he said to Ron and his brother: “Go ahead, I need to do something.”  
Ron gave him an questioning look, but he quickly slipped out from under the two arms and ran after Cedric.  
Cedric was the only one, who didn't knew about the dragons yet. It wasn't fair. It wasn't even fair, that they all cheated in the first place, but if he and Victor and Fleur did so, than at least Cedric should know as much as the rest of them, that would make the whole tournament fair again in a way. It would be a twisted kind of fairness, but a fairness nonetheless. 

 

He caught up with the Hufflepuff and tapped him on the back. Before Cedric could even fully turn around, he said in a whisper: “Cedric,the first task is dragons.”   
“What?” said Cedric, looking up.   
“Dragons,” said Harry again, speaking quickly, just in case someone would come to look after Cedric. “I don't know what exactly we have to do, but we have to steal something from them.” 

Cedric stared at him. Harry saw some of the panic he’ had felt after Ron had told him about the task in the blond's eyes.  
“Are you sure?” Cedric said in a hushed voice.   
“Dead sure,” said Harry, not giving his source away.   
“But how did you find out? We’re not supposed to know. . . .”   
“Never mind,” said Harry quickly — he knew Ron and his especially Charley would be   
in trouble if he told the truth. 

“But I’m not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum know it too.”  
Cedric straightened up, still staring at him, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in the blond's eyes.   
“Why are you telling me?” Cedric asked. 

Harry looked at him in disbelief. Harry wouldn’t have let his worst enemy face those monsters unprepared, especially, when everybody else knew — well, perhaps Malfoy or Snape he would have let run into the knife.  
“It’s just . . . fair, isn’t it?” he said to Cedric. “We all know now . . . we’re on an even footing, aren’t we?” 

 

Cedric nodded, the suspicion finally gone from his eyes. “Thank you, Potter,” the boy said.  
“No problem,” Harry retorted and then chewed on his bottom lip. This situation was getting awkward. He and Cedric didn't really know each other and Cedric had been as pissed as every other Hufflepuff about his nomination, he had only hid it better. 

Wishing now nothing more to be back in the Gryffindor's common room, he cleared his throat and said: “Um... I will go then... se you around.”  
“Yes, see you around,” Cedric retorted, but the boy didn't move, he was still standing like a statue. 

 

6\. Training:

 

Voldemort misted into existence in his throne room. His robes were bloody and torn in some places, but a satisfied and slightly maniacal smirk stretched his pale lips. The journalists of the small paper they had attacked only minutes ago, had fight tooth and nails. They had been very good fighter for mere journalists, but than again, as employees of the satyric paper “The laughing Wizard,” they had to be.

 

The paper had been a thorn in his sight even in the days of his first rise and during his absence, their derision of him had grown even worse, so they have had to die. And in the end they had, all of them. This attack would of course not change the Ministry's believe that he was still gone, but it still had been satisfying 

 

With long strides he left the room and went up the stairs to his private quarters to change into something, that didn't stick to his skin. So once in his bedroom, he directly went to his walk in closet and pulled out another set of black robes, foregoing the billowing cloak for now. It was already early morning and none of his followers would visit him until the next evening, they all had returned to their respective homes after the raid. 

 

But he had still work to do. Nagini's words from a few weeks ago didn't leave him, nor did the headache-like feeling he got whenever he attempted to think about the matter more closely and it had grown into a distraction which even hindered him in his continuation with his other areas of research (at least that was what he told himself when he once again failed in his attempt to find out more about demons).  
“That doesn't make sense. Why kill something, that is yours? You do not destroy your want either. And you once told me, that every wizard and witch knows that prophecies only become true, because humans make them true... Some days I feared, you were possessed,” his faithful familiar had said.

Something was wrong and he would find out what it was. The concept of something being wrong with him was entirely foreign and frankly, unbearable to him, but it was a matter of taking the time to meditate to find the solution and that was, what he was going to do now.

His red eyes flickered over to his bed, but than he decided to go back downstairs, he could think the best in his throne, the chair in itself calmed him down.  
So once back in his throne room, he made himself comfortable, which meant in his case sitting straight with his back leaned against the backrest, before closing his eyes and concentrating on breathing slowly and regularly. 

Occlumancy had always come natural to him, so he had not meditated in many years, but he still reached the room in his mind quickly, where the link to his prodigy was located as well.   
Rows of bookshelf after bookshelf stretched left and right of him and every book resembled a memory or some kind of knowledge.   
The more privet memories where kept in shelfs with an protective glass door, the door was more symbolic than anything else. No one had successfully entered his mind yet, not even the old fool, but than again, the man had never tried, probably too nobel as a former Gryffindor for such underhanded methods. 

Striding down the rows, he kept his eyes open for the one shelf, where his mind had locked those memories up he could not reach. The rows seemed endless around him and always looked the same, but after about ten minutes, when he had reached the far back of his mind's room he finally spotted a single shelf standing off in a corner. It was filled with books as well and possessed the typical glass door as protection, but there were also silver chains around it and a big, solid lock.

Without hesitation he went over, examined the shelf for a moment and than commanded: “Open!” Normally a command was enough in someone's own mind, but the chains did not release. Having predicted, that it would not be this easy he repeated the command in parseltongue and than started with simple unlocking spells, but neither helped. He stepped nearer to the shelf and bend down to examine the lock more closely. It did not look complicated, but this was his mind after all. Straightening up again, he decided to start with dark unlocking-spells, he knew quite a lot of them.

Fifteen minutes later he muttered his last spell and glared at the lock. He should have suspected, that these memories would not make it easy for him. Yes, he was a brilliant occlumance, but it was also him, who wanted to protect them from himself, or more precise, his subconscious. Still, he would not give up, Lord Voldemort never gave up and he would not start now, even when his opponent was his own mind, or rather, especially not when his opponent was his own mind.

Flicking his wand, he shot a strong blasting-hex towards the cupboard, but the chance only rattled slightly.   
Fury started to rise inside of him. Hundreds of humans fought against their own mind and body every day and many of them succeeded, he would not belong to the group, which lost the battle.   
Another blasting-hex followed, now a stronger and dark one, but with the same result. He changed to a curse, that worked like acid and dissolved nearly everything it touched, but this one again, brought no results. He even tried a curse, that was meant to quarter a human, but nothing. 

When Voldemort finally opened his eyes to his throne room again, it was still without his forgotten memories. Standing up, he decided to go into his library, he had some research to do. He would not give up.

…

 

Harry looked tiredly at the black board next to the great Hall, where the exact rules for the upcoming first task had been hung out. He was still tired from the long party from the night before and haven't even had breakfast yet, but Hermione insisted, that he needed to know now, what exactly he could expect from the task.

He had tried to argue, that he already knew, he would have to steal something from a dragon, but she not even listened to his argument.

“See, I was right to drag you here. You are not allowed to bring anything with you, except a wand,” Hermione said, sounding as though, it would make a world of differences, that he knew this titbit of informations now and not only after classes had ended, or at least after he had eaten something.  
“Yeah,” he answered, glancing over to Ron, but his friend had fallen asleep, leaning against the next wall.

 

“Than I have to call her somehow,” he said, shaking Ron, so that the red head would wake up and they finally would be able to go into the Great Hall. Ron awoke with a grunt and blinked around, before realizing where he was and saying: “Let's go eat. Do you think Dobby will bring be a coffee, if I call him?”

 

“I doubt that,” Hermione retorted dryly, but Harry thought, that the suggestion was worth at least a try.   
They entered the Great Hall and went over to their house table. Harry didn't pay attention where he sat down, or he might have chosen another seat, when a second later a happy voice greeted him: “Good morning, Harry.”  
Trying not to flinch openly, he turned around to greed Ginny back, hoping that it would be enough for one conversation. Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. No wonder though, because Dean was nowhere in sight.

“You look still tired. But it was your party after all. You were so amazing,” Ginny said.  
“I rather think, that McGonagall was the amazing one. I didn't do much,” he retorted with a shrug.  
Ginny scooted closer, until her knee was pressed against his. “I don't think so,” she said and fluttered her lashes. “McGonagall only defended your words, but you gave the arguments. You were brilliant.” She nudged his knee with hers in a suggestive gesture and gave him a wide smile. He could feel the heat of her body even through his trousers and wanted to run away. It felt so wrong.

 

He didn't know, if it was because his body was somewhat behind in its development, or if something else was wrong with him, but he found nothing alluring about Ginny's touch or the rest of her, for that matter.  
Even without taking into account, that her infatuation came from a silly schoolgirl-crush, there was still the fact, that she felt too soft and somehow too weak, even though he could not say, where this feeling came from. She also was Ron's sister and starting dating her, would mean that Molly and Arthur would already plan their wedding and greet him as their son-in-law and if it shouldn't work out (which it wouldn't), it would put him into an awkward situation with the Weasleys. He didn't want all off that, they were important to him, like family, he wouldn't risk their good relationship for a girl he couldn't even find attractive. 

 

Still, he didn't want to break her heart completely by telling her all this, so he said awkwardly: “Er... Ginny, don't you have a boyfriend? I think Dean wouldn't like to see us so close.” To his absolute horror, she only leaned in, until she could whisper into his right ear: “I would break up with him any time, if it means getting together with you. I only started to date Dean to make you jealous in the first place.”

 

Harry would never have thought, that she would admit using Dean so openly. Feeling desperate, he threw Hermione a pleading look, who had luckily watched them, in case, he would need help. She had done that ever since Ginny started advancing on him.

 

He was immensely thankful, when her snappy voice forced Ginny away from him again, clearly trying to sound, like the clueless bookworm many people thought her to be:  
“So, Harry, how do you imagine you can call her over such an distance?” She asked, picking their old conversation up.

 

Harry quickly used the opportunity to scoot away from Ginny, under the pretense of wanting to be closer to Hermione to answer her question without having to speak loudly.  
“I don't know. Shout as loud as I can?”  
Hermione only rolled her eyes. “That will certainly not be enough.”  
“Isn't there a spell or something? To make my voice louder?” He asked, glancing over to Ginny, who was now moodily stabbing her egg, but his attention was pulled back to the other witch, when Hermione gasped.  
“Of course, the sonorus- charm. I read about it once. Never memorized the exact wand movements, though we would have to look it up, but that would definitively be an solution.”

 

“We can do that after classes have ended,” Harry said, pulling a plate with bacon over, before asking another question, that had just popped up in his mind: “Do you think, accio will work on what ever we will have to steal?”  
Hermione shook her head. “I don't think so. Firstly, you would have to know exactly, what you are supposed to steal, and we don't know, if they will tell you. Secondly, it would be far too easy. There will most likely be a shielding charm around the object.”  
“Sound's logical,” Harry sighed and nudged Ron, who had fallen asleep again, right cheek bedded on a pile of scrambled eggs. Ron shot up, eggs dripping from his face.

 

“Is class already over?” the red head asked, eyes still half closed.  
“Forget it,” Hermione said with a pointed look.”He will not wake up today.”  
“Probably,” Harry agreed, before going back to their former topic, whil Ron laid his head back on his plate. “How else do you thing I should try to prepare myself?” He watched his friends thinking for a moment.  
“There is not much you can do. We can try to find a shield spell, that is strong enough for dragon's fire, but I would not place my hope into actually finding one. Dragon's fire is magically enhanced and their magic is very different from ours. But you should probably spent as much time as possible with Zaida and get to know her better. You will be dependent on her, after all.”  
He took a sip of his pumpkin juice, before saying: “I don't know if I should panic, because I can practically do nothing, or if I should be thankful, because we already have enough to do with our homework.”

 

Please review :-)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J. K. Rowling.

AN: “Speech in Harry's mind.” 

 

7\. A dragon, a voice and an inheritance:

 

It was finally Halloween and Harry sat once again in Potions. All classes after lunch were canceled for the day, but he still had to somehow survive Snape and right now, he couldn't say what he wanted to face more: The dragon or his Potions Professor.

 

The passed four weeks had gone by very quickly. Umbridge had not visited another of his classes, so he had gotten some relieve there, but the days had been filled with lots of homework and training and getting to know Zaida.

Like Hermione had suggested, he had spend at least one hour daily with his familiar behind Hagrid's hut, near the Forbidden Forrest, where he had introduced her to his friends as well. When he was in classes, she either stayed with him, or spend her time outside. As a growing basilisk she needed a lot of food, more than she would need later on as an adult.

He had also practiced the Sonorus- spell and had tested it's range outside with the help of his friends and Zaida.   
Zaida had promised him, that he would need no shielding spell against the dragons, but he had learned some regardless, just to be save, he didn't want to end up standing before a dragon, who was in the end not impressed by his familiar after all. Zaida had been miffed at first, but than budged, when he had explained, that his skin was not as armor-like as hers. 

“Potter!” Harry startled to attention and he looked up to see his Potions Professor sneering down on him, who had been lecturing only a minute ago.  
“Yes?” he asked, through clenched teeth, sure that another insult or humiliation would follow.

“Is my class so boring, that you are falling asleep, Potter?”  
“No, sir,” Harry retorted, biting beck the snide remark that lay on his tongue.  
“Spider's hair and acrumantula venom,” Snape asked suddenly, “in which potion are they used together?”

Harry blinked. Acrumantula venom and spider's hair, Acrumantula venom and spider's hair... he thought desperately, but knew that he would once again prove to Snape that he was utterly hopeless in Potions. He knew, sometimes, if he concentrated well he could menage to brew a decent potion, but even that wasn't often.   
Acrumantula ve...  
The Polyjuice Potion, said suddenly a voice in his head and Harry nearly fell from his chair in surprise.  
“What?” He asked back, not believing what he had just heard.  
“Acrumantula venom and spider's hair are only used in the Polyjuice Potion together,” the voice answered.

 

Had the presence in his head just spoken to him? It had never done that before. But before he could think about it any longer Snape's snapping voice forced his concentration back to the lesson:  
“Well, Potter?”  
Hoping that the voice wasn't lying, he quickly said: “The Polyjuice Potion.”  
Snape eyed him, as if he just had committed a crime, but then sneered: “Correct,” before asking yet another question: “Dragon's heartstring and night daisies?” 

 

The voice in his head instantly answered: “The Draught of the Living Dead.”  
Harry once again repeated the answer and Snape's ever present scowl deepened.  
“How often do you have to stir the Veritaserum counterclockwise?”  
This time the presence in his head laughed maliciously. “That is a catch question. The Veritaserum is only stirred clockwise.”

 

Harry stared at Snape for a moment. Was the man sinking so low that he would give him catch question's to see him fail? That was why he hated Snape so much; the man wished nothing more than to see his downfall.  
“You only have to stir it clockwise,” he answered smoothly and with a small grin tucking on the corner of his lips.  
Snape finally turned back to his blackboard, without sparing him another glance and left him finally in peace.

 

He focused back on the presence in his head and asked it: “How can you suddenly talk to me?”  
“Our connection got stronger,” the voice answered.  
He tried to concentrate on this voice, it was a deep and factual sounding voice, but it also echoed strongly in his head, so that he unfortunately could not say much more about it. Glancing up, he checked, if Snape was still talking. He was, so he asked another question:  
“Who are you? Are you a human, or a creature?”  
The voice hesitated for a moment, before answering: “I am human, but I will not yet tell you who I am. But one day I will invite you to meet me.”

 

Harry sighed, at least he knew now, that he was not talking to some sort of creature and that the person didn't want to tell him everything about himself he could understand, he wouldn't do that either. Humans could pose more problems for him than most creatures which often were not interested in wizarding gossip.  
“Tell me about you,” ordered suddenly the voice, pulling him from his thoughts. “You were upset some weeks ago, what did happen?”  
Harry huffed inwardly, which the presence must have noticed, because he suddenly got the feeling, as if somebody was glaring at him. Whoever the person was, it was clear to him that it was someone who was used to give orders without hearing complains.

 

“One of my teachers, she gave me detention and she made me use a bloodquill,” he finally said.  
“A bloodquill? That is dark magic and should not be used on children. Did you report her?”  
“Yeah, something like that...” Harry answered vaguely.  
“What do you mean?” The voice prompted.  
“I collapsed after a few nights. My friends had to bring me to the hospital wing.” He purposefully didn't mention Albus, just in case, the other person knew, that he was at Hogwarts. There was no other student who had his father here after all.

 

“And now you are in your Potions class?” The voice answered, without saying anything more to the previous matter.  
“Yes, and I hate my teacher,” he said vehemently.  
“Than I suppose you are an Hogwarts student and your teacher is Severus Snape.” The voice seemed almost to chuckle in dark amusement.  
“How do you know that?” Harry asked, before a thought came to him. “Can you see through my eyes?” He bit on his lips, while he waited for the answer. He didn't knew, if he would like it, if the man could do so, but it was a possibility after all he could see through Voldemort's eyes on occasions as well.

 

“No, the link is not yet strong enough. But there is only one person, who inspired such hatred in his students. So the conclusion was simple enough,” the voice finally told him and Harry breathed a sigh of relieve. 

 

“You seem anxious today,” the voice told him, curiosity evident in his voice.  
“I am always anxious when I am sitting in Potions,” he answered truthfully, even though, it was not the only reason for his nervousness.  
“Not excited about the first task?”  
Harry nearly flinched in his seat. Could the voice already know, who he was? Carefully he questioned: “How do you know about it?”   
The voice only scoffed. “The whole wizarding world knows about the Triwizarding Tournament and all want to see Harry Potter win, or loose, it depends on whom you ask. What fate would you prefer for the Golden Boy?”

 

Harry tried to decide, if the voice sounded mocking and insulting or not, but he really couldn't figure it out. He doubted, that he would even hear more in that deep baritone, if the voice wouldn't echo so much in his head. He somehow had the feeling as if the man only let him hear as much as he wanted and he wasn't sure what he should think about it. Coming to the conclusion that hours before the first task was not the right time to think about his companion, he answered: “I just will watch and see. It doesn't matter to me regardless.”

And it was even true. The only thing he wanted was coming out alive, nothing more.  
The voice chuckled: “Than you can neither be a Slytherin, nor a Gryffindor.”  
Harry's first impulse was to protest, but than he thought better of it, he wanted to keep his identity a secret, after all and making the man believe he was a Rawenclaw or Hufflepuff would help. It even was a logical conclusion: All Gryffindors wanted to see him win, if they weren't on the Cedric-front and certainly all Slytherins wanted probably not only see him loos, but getting grilled also.

 

“And you? What are you doing? In which house have you been?” He asked to change the topic and, because his friends knew already much more about him, than vise versa.  
“I was in Slytherin,” the voice answered, making him snort.  
“Figures,” he answered dryly, somehow, Slytherin seemed fitting, even though he could not fathom, that he had really found a Slytherin he could actually talk to.  
“And,” the voice went on, ”I am... manager of a small organization.”  
“Somehow that sounds fishy,” Harry retorted dryly.  
“Not in the least. I can assure you, that I come from an old and very respected line,” the man told him equally dryly, but it didn't impress him at all.

 

“You know, that is nothing special,” he told him. “All Slytherins come from old and supposedly respected pureblood lines, but respected is an extendable word for your lot.” Harry got the slight feeling, that the voice was huffing, at least inwardly, another thing which didn't surprised him. All Slytherins were kind of arrogant prats; some more, some less, but this one seemed actually nice enough and he had helped him back with Umbridge. Thinking about it, he still had to thank him, but he would not do that now, not after they have finally stopped talking about him.

“So, what is you favorite color?” Harry wanted to know. His companion seemed dumbfounded for a moment and when he answered, his voice sounded somewhat strained.  
“Silver, green and black.”   
“So, not only a typical Slytherin, but a depressive one on top of that?” he snickered.  
“Depressive?” The voice echoed.  
“Yes, because of the black,” Harry explained. “And let me guess, your favorite pets are snakes?”   
The voice didn't answer.  
“Oh, I knew it! You really are like every other Slytherin!”

 

The man seemed to huff again, before saying: “I would not describe myself as an ordinary Slytherin.”  
“Sure,” Harry simply agreed, without believing it one bit. “Oh, I really would like to see your home one day. I love magical homes.”  
“Than I can assume, that you are living in a muggle home?” The voice asked, sounding a bit strained.  
Harry grew instantly suspicious. “I did until recently. Now I live with a... relative. Why? Am Halfbloods not good enough for you?” He asked, his voice harsh.  
The voice hesitated for a moment, before finally saying: “No. There is no problem. What counts in the end is power.”

 

“Good,” Harry retorted and his voice still sounded a bit dry  
“How old are you?” The voice changed the topic.   
“I am 16 and in my 6th year at Hogwarts,” Harry lied quickly and smoothly. He didn't want to tell the man, that he was in 4th year, which would be the same year as Harry Potter. In the end the man would only ask him to find thinks out about Harry Potter, something he really didn't need.   
“Yes, I should have thought as much. The Potions your Professor asked you about are too complicated to be mentioned before 5th year,” the voice mused, sounding a bit unsatisfied with himself.  
Harry started to scowl, he had already noticed that he shouldn't have known the answers, but that Snape would asked him about potions he could not even have read about in his textbook of this year was even low for the man. Sometimes he really wondered, why the Potions Master hated him so much.

 

Shuffling started suddenly around him and when Harry looked up from his notebook, where he had looked at to not look suspiciously absentmindedly at nothing during his internal conversation, he saw, that the lesson had just ended. A stone seemed to drop into his stomach, or rather, a nest of nervously coiling snakes. Less than one hour. He had less than one hour until he would meet with the other champions.

His throat felt suddenly very dry. Sure, he had a plan, but there was still so much that could go wrong. Zaida could, for some reason, not hear him when he would call her later; or maybe she would not impress the dragon after all; or she would not be enough, to draw the beasts attention completely away from him.  
He shouldn't think about all these possibilities. Taking one deep intake of air, Harry tried to force his mind away from the first task.

 

“I have to go to lunch now,” he said hastily to his companion to have something else to do than making himself crazy with fear and started packing. Ron and Hermione were already ready to leave and looked impatiently down on him.

“Tell me, how Potter did,” the voice ordered, before disappearing from his mind.  
“Harry, hurry up. You have to eat something before meeting with Professor McGonagall,” Hermione told him.  
Rolling his eyes, he retorted: “I know, I know.” The other students would have an hour after lunch before they had to go down to wherever the first task would take place, but he would go there and get some more instructions earlier. After lunch at the latest, but something told him, he probably would not even have that much time.

 

“You still have to bring Zaida outside,” Ron reminded him, seeming more nervous than he himself.  
“Let's do that first and after that we can eat in peace, or at least you two can,” he said and swung his bag over his right shoulder.

“That's a good idea,” Hermione agreed and they hastily left Snape's classroom and hurried to the edge of the Forbidden Forrest.  
Zaida was already awake and grew to her normal size without Harry having to wake her.  
“Master,” she greeted him with a slight bow of her head. “Is it time?”   
“No, not yet, but soon,” he told her. “I will go to lunch now, and if you want to eat something before the first task starts, you should go hunt now.”  
“I will do that, Master,” Zaida said and with one last glance over to his two friends, she slithered away.

 

Harry stared a moment at the spot where she had just been, with his thoughts everywhere and nowhere, until Ron's voice pulled him back to reality:  
“Harry, let's go inside, or do you want to go fight a dragon on an empty stomach?”  
Turning around, he smiled at his red headed friend, even though he was not sure, if he would be able to eat much.   
Hermione seemed to read his thoughts, because she stretched a hand out for him and said: “Let's go regardless,” before locking her arm with his. 

 

On the way back to the castle, they met not a single student, everybody was already in the Great Hall. The wind was picking up and and the clouds in the sky seemed to swirl above them.  
“I bet we get a thunderstorm for our Halloween Party this evening,” he said with his head in his neck, thinking, that it would be time.  
“Are you very nervous?” Hermione asked, barely above a whisper and without paying any attention to his words.

 

Shrugging, he wondered what he should tell his friends. Of course he was nervous; very, extremely nervous. But neither letting it show, nor talking with his friends about it would help and only make them even more nervous themselves and Harry wanted that they could enjoy the tournament later.

 

He opened the castle doors and slipped inside first, but Ron and Hermione where close behind him.   
Even though the doors to the great Hall were thick and closed, he could already hear the excited chatter from inside. He really wasn't eager to listen to all the bets being mate about who would win or loose later, nor did he wan't to hear more insults of the Cedric-fans, which were still as large in number than four weeks ago, but luckily Ron wasn't one of them anymore.

 

“Do you want to go down to the kitchen?” Ron asked suddenly from behind him.   
“I really would like that,” Harry sighed, “but I don't know, when McGonagall will fetch me.”  
“Then we should get it over with,” Hermione said with a scowl. “If you want I can cast a privacy bubble around us,” she offered.  
“Yeah, I think that would be nice,” he answered and finally opened the double doors and went inside. The chattering didn't die down, but instantly hundreds of eyes settled on him. Feeling slightly annoyed, he hurried to get over to the Gryffindor table.

 

Neville and the twins had kept three seats free between them and waved him over as he came nearer. Sitting down, a little scroll appeared on the plate in front of him and he quickly picked it up.  
“Who wrote you?” Ron asked, sitting down to his right, whil Hermione sat down to his left. Neville and the twins also looked curious.

 

Unrolling it, his eyes landed on two different sets of handwriting.  
“It's from Padfoot and Albus,” he answered with a look to Fred and George. The twin's eyes widened for the split of a second in understanding and Harry quickly looked back down to read the notes:

Dear Harry,  
I wish you the best of luck for today's task. I wish I could be there to watch you, but there will be too many reporters and guests and your father says, it is far too dangerous, which doesn't mean, that I haven't tried to persuade him.   
I hope we will see us soon and I know that you will win this stupid tournament,

Padfoot

 

Harry smiled shortly, before continuing with his guardian's note, which he had written beneath Sirius'.

My dear son,  
as the headmaster of Hogwarts, I will of course be objective and at least pretend, that all my fingers are not crossed for you, which will not even be necessary, because as Padfoot put it already so correctly: You will win. I do not doubt that either.  
But please keep in mind that this tournament is not worth your life.  
Your father,

Albus

 

A single tear escaped Harrys eyes and he hastily wiped it away. He had never felt so supported. Sirius and Albus had truly become his family. Wordlessly he gave the notes to Ron, so that Hermione and his brothers could read it as well, while he started to put some rice onto his plate. 

 

He really had not much hunger and suspected, a huge steak would be wrong thing regardless.  
“Oh, I hope Padfoot will not try something stupid,” Hermione said after she had finished reading.   
“I hope so as well,” he retorted, picking on his rice. Unfortunately, sneaking onto the grounds, despite many reporters and Ministry officials being there, would be typical for Sirius.   
“Who is Padfoot?” Neville asked looking back and forth between him and his two best friends.

 

“It's...” he started, but had no clue how describe Sirius, but luckily, Hermione saved him.  
“He is a friend of Albus and James and Professor Lupin know him as well.”  
“Oh,” Neville said, “Did Dumbledore introduced him to you during the holidays?”  
“Yeah, he did. Padfoot is really cool and funny,” Harry answered with a grin and the twins snickered. 

 

Suddenly Dean and Ginny came over and sat down across from him. He suppressed a sigh and glanced unsuspiciously over to Hermione, who seemed to sigh silently in exasperation even the twins looked annoyed, as he looked to his other side. 

 

To his relieve, Fred quickly started a conversation with her, before she could once again start to flirt with him, Dean was already wearing a huge scowl. He could not even blame hi for it, he would be annoyed as well, if his girlfriend would constantly flirt with another guy. The only thing that wondered him was, that Dean had not yet blamed him openly.

 

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagalls voice came suddenly from behind him. The Professor sounded even more stern than usual and as he turned around, he could see, that her lips were once again only a thin line.  
Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Neville looked suddenly very anxious, so did Ginny, but he tried his best to ignore her. He didn't want her sympathy, because it would only make the wrong impression.

“Do we have to go now?” He asked silently, somehow hoping, she wouldn't hear him. His stomach which had unknotted a bit over lunch pulled together again and all nervousness returned.   
McGonagall only gave him a curt nod.  
He rose as if in trance, not even really noticing, how Ron said: “Good luck, mate,” and patted his shoulder.   
“We will cross our fingers for you,” the twins promised in unison.  
“Thank you guys,” Harry said, but his last word was muffled, from a mob of curly, brown hair.  
“Oh Harry. Please promise to be alright,” Hermione whispered into his ears, embracing him tightly. He returned the hug equally tightly, but he could not promise what she wanted to hear. He would have to face a dragon, he could not promise to be fine, but her embrace seemed to give him strength.

 

He ket go of her after a half a minute or so and as he looked into Hermione's face, he could see unshed tears glistening in her brown eyes. With a weak smile she stepped back, only to be replaced by Ginny, who suddenly flung herself into his arms as well. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung so strongly to him that he feared she was going to kiss him.  
“Ginny please,” he said, trying to push her away from him, “I am suffocating.”  
“Don't be like this, Harry,” she retorted sweetly and batted her lashes. 

 

He was going to push her again, stronger this time, when suddenly two hands grabbed her and yanked her away.  
“Didn't you hear him, little sister?” the twins asked her in unison. “Just realize it already, our dear Harry isn't interested in you,” George added.   
“How can you say that? He has never rejected me!” She bit back.  
“Of course not,” Fred snorted. “He is much too polite for rejecting you.”  
Ginny scowled at his brothers and Harry nearly forgot, that he was supposed to go somewhere, until McGonagall's voice suddenly cut through the bickering.

“Well, Mr. Potter?”  
Harry blushed, embarrassed beyond believe that his head of house had witnessed Ginny's behavior and quickly stammered: “Oh, yes... Professor... I am sorry...”  
“Than let's go, we are already late,” she said and with one last look towards his friends, Harry turned around and quickly followed her.

He felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing “We’ll have a box of tissues ready, Potter ” as he passed through the Great Hall. By now he was so nervous, that he wondered whether he might just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight.

 

As he left the castle next to his head of house and stepped into the cold October weather, she suddenly placed her hand on his shoulder and he could clearly see, how anxious McGonagall truly was.  
“Now, don’t panic,” she said, “just keep a cool head. . . . We’ve got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand... The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you... Are you all right?” Sounding as if she was reassuring herself as well.  
“Yes,” he heard himself say. “Yes, I’m fine.” 

 

She was leading him around the edge of the forest, but when they approached a clump of trees, but behind them, a open felt stretched, or rather, a former open felt. A tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, and probably screening the dragons from view. 

He had not yet seen any of them, but he suspected, that it would not matter which one he would have to face. Dragons were all strong and rather vicious.

“You’re to go in here with the other champions,” said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, “and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there... he’ll be telling you the — the procedure... Good luck.”   
“Thanks,” he retorted, not knowing what else to say to reassure himself or his Professor. She left him at the entrance of the tent and with one last intake ob air to calm himself down, he went inside. 

Fleur Delacour was already sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She didn’t look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When he entered, Cedric gave him a small smile, which he returned, feeling the muscles in his face working rather hard, as though they had forgotten how to do it. 

 

“Harry! Good-o!” said Bagman happily, looking around at him. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home!”   
Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions, he was wearing what looked like a old Quidditch robe.   
“Well, now we’re all here — time to fill you in!” said Bagman brightly. “When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag” — he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them — “from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different — er — varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too... ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!” 

 

Harry glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman’s words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn’t reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how he felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this, he thought dryly.

 

From outside, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking... he felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. And then — it seemed like about a second later to him — Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack. 

 

“Ladies first,” he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.   
Harry watched oddly calmly, as she put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon, but he did not know, how it's name was and as he thought before, it probably didn't matter, knowing the name would not help either of them. The dragon had the number two around its neck.   
Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, proving Moody had told him the truth: Fleur had known all along about the dragons as well.

 

The same held true for Krum. He pulled out a red dragon, with slitted, vivid green eyes which looked more long than high, a bit like a snake. It had a number three around its neck. He didn’t even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground. 

Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came a blueish-gray exemplar, the number one tied around its neck. Bagman grinned down at him, as he finally stopped in front of him, as if the tournament would be a great, funny affair. 

 

Harry didn't even try to calm himself down, as he put his hand into the silk bag and pulled out a black, even more vicious looking dragon. It seemed to be taller than the other three and hissed at him quietly. Bagman winced shortly, when the man saw, which one he had.   
Well, he thought, maybe there were some dragons, which where even worse than the others. Just his luck, that he would be the one to face it. Unfortunately, there was no way, that he could warn Zaida.   
He didn't need to look at the number to know, that he would be the last one to go.

 

“Well, there you are!” said Bagman finally. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mr. Diggory, you’re first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now... Harry... could I have a quick word? Outside?” 

 

“Er . . . yes,” he agreed, wondering what the former Quidditch star could want from him. Getting up, he went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked him a short distance away, into the trees, and then turned to him with a fatherly expression on his face.   
“Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?” “What?” he asked even more confused. Did Bagman offer him to... help him cheat? Wasn't the man supposed to be objective?  
“I — no, nothing. I am fine,” he quickly declined. Accepting Moody's help was one thing, but this felt even more wrong. 

“Got a plan?” said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Because I don’t mind sharing a few pointers, if you’d like them, you know. I mean,” Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, “you’re the underdog here, Harry... Anything I can do to help... ”   
“No,” he said so quickly he knew he had sounded rude, “no — I — I know what I’m going to do, thanks.”   
“Nobody would know, Harry,” said Bagman, winking at him and Harry slowly got the feeling, that there was more behind the matter than Bagman wanting to be nice. He would tell his friends later after the tournament about him, but for now he said with a small smile:  
“I’ve got a plan worked out, I —”   
A whistle had blown somewhere.   
“Good lord, I’ve got to run!” said Bagman in alarm, and he hurried off. 

 

Harry walked back to the tent and saw Cedric emerging from it, greener than ever. He wished him good luck, but Cedric didn't look as if he had heard it. Back inside the tent, even Krum looked now openly nervous. Seconds later, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model...

 

Going over to another free chair, he sat down and started to wait for his turn to arrive. The waiting was worse than he could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed... yelled... gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past his bluish beast. Krum was once again staring at the ground and Fleur had now taken to retracing Cedric’s steps, around and around the tent. And Bagman’s commentary made everything much, much worse... Horrible pictures formed in his mind as he heard: “Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow”... “He’s taking risks, this one!”... “Clever move — pity it didn’t work!” 

 

And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past his dragon and captured the golden egg.   
“Very good indeed!” Bagman was shouting. “And now the marks from the judges!”   
But he didn’t shout out the marks; Harry supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.   
“One down, three to go!” Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. “Miss Delacour, if you please!”

 

Fleur was trembling from head to foot; Harry felt more warmly toward her than he had done so far as she left the tent with her head held high and her hand clutching her wand. He and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent, avoiding each other’s gaze.   
The same process started again. . . . “Oh I’m not sure that was wise!” they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. “Oh...nearly! Careful now... good lord, I thought she’d had it then!” 

 

Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause once more. . . . Fleur must have been successful too. A pause, while Fleur’s marks were being shown . . . more clapping . . . then, for the third time, the whistle.   
“And here comes Mr. Krum!” cried Bagman, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harry quite alone. 

 

He felt much more aware of his body than usual; very aware of the way his heart was pumping fast, and his fingers tingling with fear . . . yet at the same time, he seemed to be outside himself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though from far away. . . . 

“Very daring!” Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the red, snake-like dragon emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. “That’s some nerve he’s showing — and — yes, he’s got the egg!”   
Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished — it would be his turn any moment. 

 

Standing up, he noticed dimly that his legs seemed to be made of marshmallow. He waited. And then he heard the whistle blow. He walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside him. And now he was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence. 

 

He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly colored dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from stands that had been magicked there since he’d last stood on this spot. And opposite of him, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, he didn’t know or care. It was time to do what he had to do... but first he would look for a good hiding place.

The dragon had not yet spotted him, fortunately, because he needed to survive until Zaida came. Looking around, he saw a huge, massive rock only a few feet to his right. Slowly, carefully, to not draw the dragon mother's attention, he walked over to the rock and crouched down behind it. The spot left him still visible for the crowd, but invisible for the black dragon. 

Shortly he thought, that it was really cruel to make the beasts think, they would steal their young, but than Bagman's voice pulled him out of his revery:  
“Oh, our young hero is hiding? Maybe it is part of his plan?”

Harry sighed, and raised his wand, shouting “Sonorus,” with the tip on his throat.   
“The Sonorus- charm? That is certainly a new approach!” Bagman commentated, but he ignored his stupid commands in favore for shouting “Zaida, come now,” in parseltongue. Now, the only thing to do was wait for his familiar, who hopefully would arrive soon.

“Was that a spell? If so, it clearly did not work, but I honestly can't say. Do you know the language of it, Barty?” Bagman asked his colleague, who must have shaken his head, because Harry could not hear any reply.   
Sniffing sounds reached his ears then and as he carefully glanced over the rock, he realized, that the dragon must have smelled his intrusion. She was stretching her already long throat and clearly searching for him, but she did also not leave her nest.

 

Crouching down further, Harry prayed for Zaida to hurry. If the dragon spotted him, he would be lost. One minute went by and than another two. His hands started to shake violently and the crowd, which had been silent until now started whispering.

 

Finally, after about 5 minutes, a movement to his left made him look up once more. Zaida, still small, slithered through the small gap between the ten-entrance and the ground. She tasted the air and quickly turned right, directly in his direction.

 

A girl must have noticed the small snake as well, because she shouted: “Look there!”   
Apparently the crowd must have followed her command, because one second later they started snickering loudly.  
“Could the Golden Boy not find any better help?” Draco Malfoys voice rose above the others, taunting him, but Harry only smirked. What Malfoy was going to see, would not only shock him, but also threaten his pride as a Slytherin, the only house, who produced Parselmouth, at least, if someone believed that tale.

 

Bagman had finally seen his familiar as well, because he said: “I am not sure, if his spell summoned this little snake, but let's just keep watching! Hopefully it will be of any help...”

 

Zaida had finally reached him and once again greeted him with a respectful: “Master.” She then looked over to the dragon and asked: “Do you know now, what you have to steal?”  
“I have to steal one of her eggs, so you have to get her away from her nest somehow,” he told her silently.  
Zaida gave a single nod, before saying: “Cast your spell again, they should know, that you are a speaker. It is a noble inheritance, you should be proud of your gift.”  
Blinking once, he repeated the sonorus- charm, not sure, if it was a good idea. His second year had taught him, that most people were afraid of Parselmouth, but he wanted to do her the little favor.  
“Is Harry talking with the snake?” Bagman asked in the background, sounding bewildered.

 

“Let's give them a show,” Zaida hissed and side by side, they left the shelter of the rock.  
“Now he is coming out!” Bagman shouted, but no one cheered for him, they were still whispering and laughing about his small familiar, Malfoy being the loudest.

 

Walking further into the clearing, Zaida finally started to slowly grow. The crowd slowly went silent, as they noticed the change in the white snake and when Zaida was about 10 feet long, someone screamed and a shout followed. “It's a Basilisk!”

 

The satisfied smirk on his face widened as he saw from the corner of his eyes the great mass of Slytherins take a hasty step backwards.   
“By Merlin's beard!” Bagman gasped and glancing up, Harry could clearly see, that the crowd was torn between watching and closing their eyes in fear, so he turned towards them, while Zaida was still growing and said loudly: “She is my familiar, no need to fear her. She has orders to not kill any students, Professors or guests with her eyes.”

 

Bagman laughed nervously, but obviously decided to trust him, or his curiosity was just to great.  
“So, are you ready?” He asked Zaida, his voice still loud and clearly for everybody to hear.  
“Yes, Master,” Zaida hissed back and than slithered to the middle of the field, directly in front of the dragon and gave a very loud, threatening hiss, which easily drowned the snarls of the black beast. The dragon's head snapped around to face Zaida, but as soon as her gleaming eyes had seen the white scales, she protectively lowered her head and closed her eyes instinctively, until they were barely open.

“Force her away from the nest!” Harry instructed Zaida, more for the benefit of the watchers, than everything else.  
Zaida slithered left and than started to close in on the dragon. The dragon must have seem the movements, because with a whimpering sound, she crawled a bit away from her eggs, but not far enough to leave them unprotected.

 

Meanwhile he only stood there and watched his Basilisk work. It was an impressive sight, even so she was only 17 feet long yet, which still was very huge for him. Zaida gave another loud his and the dragon mother retreated further.

“He is really doing it! And without even a scratch yet!” Bagman said into the silence, which once again had arisen.  
Harry left his eyes on the dragon and her nest, waiting for his opportunity. By now, only her long tail was still curled protectively around it, but that was still enough to kill him. He doubted, that the dragon would use fire, because she would have to look up for that, which she currently clearly didn't do. He really was relieved, that Zaida had been right with her assessment of dragons. 

Zaida leaped forwards, as if she wanted to strike the dragon and with a loud roar the beast crawled further back, pulling her long tail after her and laying it over her eyes and snout.  
“You can go now, Master,” Zaida hissed, placing herself between the dragon and the nest.  
“Thank you,” he hissed back, before starting to make his way towards the eggs. He felt a bit like a cheater, as he came nearer and nearer, but then again, using his own abilities was hardly forbidden. 

 

Glancing to his right, he shortly checked, if Zaida had the dragon still under control. The whole audience was silent, even Malfoy had stopped with his stupid commands. Shortly he wondered how he should recognize the one egg he should steal. The nest was huge and its edge very high, almost reaching up over his knees. He had to lean forwards to get a glimpse inside. To his relieve he instantly spotted a golden egg in the very middle, surrounded by five others. 

 

Grabbing it quickly, Harry pressed it to his chest and retreated. When he was standing next to the entrance of the tent, he hissed: “You can come back now. I have the egg.”  
Zaida turned her huge head in his direction, before she slowly started to slither backwards, still silently hissing. When she had reached him, she shrank until she was only five feet long and curled her smooth body around his shoulders. 

 

“You succeeded, Master,” she hissed, but he gave no answer and instead quickly exited the clearing. As soon as the tent door had closed behind him, loud applause and cheering rose from the audience and Bagman shouted:  
“Our hero did it! I think we have a clear winner for this round!”  
Stumbling over to the now vacant chair, he slumped down and sighed in relieve. His hands were still shaking and his heart racing like mad, but he had got through the first task, he had survived...  
“You did well, Master,” Zaida hissed and nuzzled his cheek with an almost motherly gesture.  
“I did nothing, nothing much at least. You did the hard work, thank you,” he whispered and to his horror was his voice as shaky as the rest of him.  
“I will always help you, Master. You saved my life, I save yours,” Zaida retorted.  
“How did I save your life?” Harry asked in wonder. He had never heard the story, how Zaida had gotten into Moody's hands, but he could hardly imagine, that the man had stolen her from her nest. No one was able to steal a basilisk's egg.  
“My mother abandoned me, I believe, she did it for her own master, but I am not sure, I was still very young. Once abandoned, a basilisk is doomed to die, if no wizard or witch is willing to incubate us and bind themselves to us.”

 

For a moment Harry was shocked into silent. What kind of man would demand from his familiar to abandon her own child?   
“The master of your mother must be a cruel man,” he said.  
“Maybe, or maybe he had a good reason. I do not know the answer, but I hope to meet my mother one day,” Zaida hissed.  
“If you want, I will help search for her. Or bring you to her, when you have found her,” he promised. He could just understand far too well, how it felt to grow up without knowing his parents, if he could somehow spare Zaida this fate, he wound happily do it.  
“Thank you, Master.”

 

The other door to the tent flew open and Professor McGonagall, Moody, Ron and Hermione came stormed in, ending their conversation.

 

“That was excellent, Potter!” cried Professor McGonagall and for a short moment, Harry feared she would hug him, but in the last moment she visibly stopped herself, and only patted his shoulder awkwardly.  
“Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey, Mr. Potter? She’s had to mop up Diggory already...”   
“No, I am fine. The dragon didn't even see me,” he answered quickly, not wanting to spend a night in the Hospital Wing, only because Madame Pomfrey wanted to make sure that he really was alright. He had spend enough nights in there already to last him a life time, even so the nurse was nice and all.

McGonagall was about to argue, but Moody luckily interrupted her.   
“Very well done,” the man said, looking very pleased too; his magical eye was practically dancing in its socket.   
“Nice and easy does the trick, Potter,” he growled.   
“Are you sure, that you are fine Mr...” McGonagall started again, but she was once again interrupted.

“Harry, you were brilliant!” Hermione said squeakily and hugged him shortly, clearly not able to contain herself any longer. She still seemed very agitated, there were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear, he noticed. “You were amazing! You really were! And Zaida too!” 

 

Ron stepped up to him next and squeezed his shoulder with a strongly shaking hand. “Mate,” he said, very seriously, “You can't believe, how happy I am that I haven't gotten the chance to never dying glory!”   
“I told you so,” he grinned back at his friend, who shamefully rubbed the back of his head.  
“Yeah, I should have listened,” Ron said, grinning back sheepishly. “Barking mad... I was. C’mon, Harry, they’ll be putting up your scores. . . .” 

 

Picking up the golden egg, he told Zaida: “I get my marks now.”  
“Marks?” Zaida asked back.  
“Yes, for my work with the dragons, or our work.”  
Zaida huffed and puffed out her chest. “You will get the best marks,” she said with conviction.

 

Ron started to speak again and so he turned back towards his friends, as they lead him back onto the clearing, not leaving his side.  
“You were the best, you know, no competition. Cedric did this weird thing where he Transfigured a rock on the ground . . . turned it into a dog . . . he was trying to make the dragon go for the dog instead of him. Well, it was a pretty cool bit of Transfiguration, and it sort of worked, because he did get the egg, but he got burned as well — the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have him than the Labrador; he only just got away.   
And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance — and it didn't worked at all. It probably would have, if she had not been the only one to cast the spell. But she had been and so this great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire — she put it out with a bit of water out of her wand and more ran too the egg and fleeing afterwards then anything else. Charley had to step in with his colleagues to save her arse.   
And Krum — He was probably the best after you. Hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye, the only spot where they are truly vulnerable. Only thing is, it went trampling around in agony and squashed half the real eggs — they took marks off for that, he wasn’t supposed to do any damage to them. Dragons are getting rare after all.” 

 

Ron stopped, when they came to an halt next to the other champion. Harry was not the only one who had not come alone. Fleur was in company of a younger girl, who only could bee her sister, they looked so much alike. 

 

Now that the dragon had been taken away, Harry could see where the five judges were sitting — right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.   
“It’s marks out of ten from each one,” Ron said, and Harry, squinting up the field, saw the first judge — Madame Maxime — raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.   
“Why only eight?” hissed Ron as the crowd applauded.   
Harry shrugged his shoulder, but Hermione said: “I think, they took points for using a dark ability.” She rolled her eyes. “But really,she is an intelligent woman, she should know that your decisions make you dark or light, not your gifts.”

He nodded, but Mr. Crouch lifted his wand, so he didn't reply verbally. He shot a number nine into the air. “Looking good!” Ron yelled, thumping Harry on the back.   
Next came Albus He too put up a nine, probably taking one point away, so that no accusations of favoritism could be raised.   
The crowd was cheering harder than ever. 

Ludo Bagman lifted his wand and wit a bright grin drew a ten. “Ten?” said Harry in disbelief. “But... as a Ministry worker, should he not take at least one point from me as well?”  
“Don’t complain, mate!” Ron yelled excitedly. And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too — four. “What?” Ron bellowed furiously. “Four? You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten!” But Harry didn’t care, he wouldn’t have cared if Karkaroff had given him zero, he didn't expect anything else from a Death Eater. 

 

Suddenly all Gryffindors joined in on the complaining and a wide grin stretched his lips.  
When it had come to it, when they had seen what he was facing, most of the school had been on his side as well as Cedric’s. . . . He didn’t care about the Slytherins, he could stand whatever they threw at him now. 

 

“You are first!” A voice said behind him and he jumped in surprise. Turning around, he saw Charley standing there, grinning even wider than he himself. “You managed the Horntail! It's unbelievable. She is a real beast. And that basilisk of yours- amazing! Never saw a white one.”  
“It's not a normal basilisk. They are called binding basilisk. They can bound themselves to wizards as familiar,” Harry explained, still a bit surprised to see Ron's second oldest brother stand so openly beside him, he was at Hogwarts for work after all, but now no one could accuse him on cheating anymore, so it should be save to talk with him.   
Charley looked up to the judges, and than over to Ron and Hermione, before telling them all: “Listen, I’ve got to run, I’ve got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I’d tell her what happened — but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah — and they told me to tell you you’ve got to hang around for a few more minutes... Bagman wants a word, back in the champions’ tent.” 

“We will wait for you outside the tent,” said Hermione and pulled Ron by his arm.  
“I will try and hurry,” he retorted and turned back to Charley, saying: “Greet your parents from me,” before making his way quickly back to the tent, but before he could step inside, a strong hand came shot out of nowhere and pulled him between the trees.

 

Suddenly panicked, he started to struggle, but the hand was strong and unyielding. Around his neck he could feel Zaida starting to move, but before she could strike his attacker, the hand let go of him and Moody growled: “Be silent, Potter. I think you should hear this, so that you know what you will be up against next.”

 

He felt automatically silent, not even thinking about ignoring the command from the man, who had helped him to survive the first task and when voices reached his ears, he listened more intensely, because they seemed to argue.

“I zink, zat Mr. Potter should get a 'arder task next time. He was clearly not enough challenged! And 'e is ze 'ero after all. 'e defeated You-Know-Who!” Madame Maxime demanded.  
“Madame Maxime,” that was his guardian's voice. “I am sure, Harry had to work as hard as every other champion for this task and using one's own abilities is not forbidden.”  
“I share Maxime's opinion,” Karkaroff growled. “Your son won too easily. And he is special, after all.” Harry inwardly winced at the way Karkaroff spitted out the sentence, but in the next moment Albus spoke again:  
“As far as I can tell, he had this familiar not before this task. It is a binding basilisk, the only kind of this special snake species, which can be harmless to human's and other creatures if commanded. But Harry never was particular interested in snakes. I guess he stumbled over them in a book by chance and than he still had to find an egg, incubate and train the basilisk in the end, so his victory was not an easy one.”

 

“Its only logical, zat you defent 'im,” Madame Maxime spoke again. “And Karkarof and I can understand zat, but 'e still 'as advantages 'e should not 'ave!”  
“He has no advantages, Madame, he even has disadvantages! My son is much younger and even so he might be magically stronger, he also knows far less spells,” now Albus sounded slowly angry, something Harry had never heard from the man and it made him shiver. Power rang in his voice and the air filled with tension.

 

“Please, Gentleman and Lady,” that was Bagman's voice. “I am sure, Barty can come up with a good solution. No need to argue. This tournament is meant to build friendships and not conflicts.”

 

“If he has a solution, I am willing to at least listen,” Karkaroff said pointedly and Harry was sure, he was giving Crouch an equally pointed look. For a long moment nothing could be heard and he glanced over to Moody, who gave him a sign to continue listening, which he would done regardless. Sure, he was cheating once again, but if they would really force him to do more dangerous or complicated tasks, even though he clearly had no advantages, he would not feel bad about it. And he would not tell anybody this time. Slowly he was getting fed up with the good and noble Gryffindor image. 

“I think,” Crouch then spoke up and he listened again. “Mr. Potter should have to solve the same task, like the other champions. It would be too complicated to organize special ones for him.”  
“Mr. Crouch you can not mean it!” Madame Maxime exclaimed offendedly and Karkaroff gave a low, growling sound.  
“But” Crouch continued “I also think, we should make it a bit more difficult for him. Madame Maxime is right by saying, that he is blessed with especially strong magic and it more than outweighs his young age.”

 

“Barty, please. Think about what you are doing! Harry can die like any other student here and what then? We will be left with no protection against Voldemort.” Albus tried to make Crouch see reason, but Harry already knew, it would be in vein.   
Loud gasps had come from the tent at the mentioning of the dark wizard's name and it took a moment, until Crouch was able to answer. “Don't start this nonsense again, Albus. You-Know-Who is not back. The few incidents where the Dark Mark had been found over crime scenes, have been cost by former Death Eaters, who want to scare us into believing he is back. Or maybe it merely were jokes.”  
“Jokes? The victims have been killed brutally. It was clearly his signature!” Albus said loudly.

 

“We will not come to an understanding on that topic, so let's continue with Mr. Potter's next task,” Crouch huffed, before continuing: “The next task is the one in the Black Lake, am I right?”  
Someone must have nodded, because Crouch went on: “The other champions have to save one. I think it will be fair, if young Harry must search for two.”  
Harry heard Albus sigh heavily. “Very well, Barty, if this is your decision.”  
“Yes, it is,” crouch retorted. 

 

“Well, Harry should be here any moment, together with the other champions,” Bagman suddenly said. “I ask Mr. Weasley to send him here.”  
“Zan we will better leave,” Madame Maxime said.  
“Albus, we will se us later?” Crouch asked and Albus answered “Of course, Barty.”   
Only a moment later the door to the tent flew open and Maxime, Karkaroff and Crouch exited.

 

Turning to Moody, Harry mouthed a thank you and Moody answered with a curt nod. He quickly checked, if the other three were out of side, before stepping onto the small path in front of the tent and entering. Bagman sat on the little chair, but rose with a wide grin as soon as he saw him, whilst Albus stood off to the side, his eyes twinkling and a knowing look in his eyes. Harry got the feeling, as if the old wizard once again knew, what he had been up to, or that he had listened in, in this case, but the man said nothing about it. Instead, he came over with two long strides pressed him shortly to his chest.

 

“Very well done, my son,” Albus said, before letting him go once again. Harry could only stare, feeling bewildered and overwhelmed with the sudden closeness. Despite Ron's and Hermione's occasional arm-patting, he never had experienced a real hug. Albus must have noticed his bewildered look, because he chuckled silently. And before either of them could say anything more, or talk about the task, the tent entrance opened once more and Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all came in together. Albus gave him a last wink, before slipping out of the tent.

 

Turning around, Harry saw in horror, that one side of Cedric’s face was covered in a thick orange paste, which stretched down his throat and half of his bare chest. But the boy still grinned at him and said: “Good one, Harry. But you scared the hell out of me in the first moment.” Cedric's eyes flickered over to Zaida, who was still comfortably curled around his shoulders, but quickly retreated again.

“You really don't need to fear her. She is a binding basilisk and can make her eyes harmless. It's like a thin net covering her eyes,” he explained for the benefit of everyone in the tent. Krum didn't react, but Fleur smiled shyly at him and eyed his familiar shortly.

 

Bagman cleared his throat, ending their little conversation. “Well done, all of you!” The former Quidditch-star looked as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. “Now, just a quick few words. You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth — but we’re giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you’re all holding, you will see that they open . . . see the hinges there?”

 

Harry glanced down at his own egg and saw, that it indeed had hinges, he had not noticed it before.   
“You need to solve the clue inside the egg — because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear?” Bagman continued and Harry nodded alongside with the others.   
“Sure?” Bagman asked again and rolling his eyes, he nodded a second time.   
“Well, off you go, then!” Bagman finally released them. 

 

Leaving the tent, he rejoined Ron and Hermione, and they started to walk back around the edge of the forest, talking hard; he wanted to hear what the other champions had done in more detail. Then, as they rounded the clump of trees, a witch leapt out from behind them. It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes today; the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand blended perfectly against them.   
Hermione bristled at her sighed, while he fought the strong urge to just turn around and leave again.

 

“Congratulations, Harry!” she said, beaming at him. “I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel now, about the fairness of the scoring?”   
“Yeah, you can have a word,” he said savagely, giving in to his urge. “Good-bye.” Next to him his friends started to laugh as they quickly followed him up to the castle. Glancing backwards, he could see Seeker still standing where he had left her, a baffled look on her face.

 

“That was brilliant,” Ron chuckled and patted his shoulder.  
“The Halloween Feast should start soon,” Hermione said with a glance to her watch. Suddenly his stomach started growling and he felt, how hungry he truly was after this day.  
“That's great. I need to eat something,” he retorted.  
“Yeah, we heard that, mate,” Ron grinned.  
“Well, you didn't eat much earlier,” Hermione mused, sounding a bit scoldingly.  
“I just couldn't eat. Would you have been able to? Knowing that you have to face a dragon soon?” He asked her.  
Hermione hesitated for a moment, before saying: “No.”

 

“See,”he said, opening the entrance doors, which they had finally reached. Inside were students buzzing around, most of them hurrying to the great hall already.  
“Do you want to change before going to the feast?” Hermione asked with a look at his clothes.  
“No, not necessary. I didn't do much,” Harry retorted.  
“Then let's go, I am starving!” Ron said and turned towards the Great Hall. As they entered, the hall was already packed with students and teachers. Crouch and Bagman sat once again at the head table and his guardian came just in through the hidden door. His eyes met twinkling blue ones, before Albus came to an halt and cleared his throat.  
“First, I wish to congratulate all our champions- Congratulations! I bet, we are all quite stared after this exciting day, so, before our feast starts, I only will tell you, that the Halloween party will have an open end for the years four to seven!” 

 

Cheers erupted around Harry, as he watched Albus clap twice and suddenly golden plates appeared in front of them, together with glowing pumpkins and a swarm of bats. The Great Hall darkened, until the only light came from the many candles and the few last raises of the setting sun.

 

“Open end! That's so cool!” Ron exclaimed next to him, before suddenly wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Normally, open end parties are only for fifth years and higher. I bet Dumbledore made an exception for you. Would be a shame if you couldn't enjoy your victory party!”  
Pulling himself from his friends hug, he looked down on the foot in front of him, only to freeze in shock. There, on a huge, golden plate, laid something, that looked like a man's head. A really realistic looking man's head. Blood was seaping from the open wound of his throat and his eyes were wide in shock, a silent scream on his pale lips. Bile rose in his stomach and he quickly looked away, only to see a hand with gruesome wounds instead of fingernails to his right.

 

“I think, the house elves overdid it,” he said to his friends.  
“What?” Hermione asked only to screech in the next moment, she must have seen the head as well.  
“Don't get your knickers in a twist,” Ron laughed, cutting a piece from the head and as soon as it landed on his plate, it transfigured into a steak with fried potatoes.  
“This spell is really popular at birthday parties for children. Mum once transfigured the food into a whole miniature Quidditch field when I turned seven,” the red-head told them, already starting to eat. 

 

Still staring at the bloody hand, Harry wasn't sure, if he still was hungry. Even knowing that it only was a spell, it just looked far too realistic for his liking. Next to him Hermione looked not more convinced than he himself.  
“Maybe I will just wait for dessert,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.  
“Come on, mate, it's only a spell,” Ron said between two bites of potatoes.

 

He luckily was saved from answering, when suddenly two identical red head appeared left and right to his.  
“Amazing show, Harry!” Fred and George said in unison, bending over his shoulders and as if their words had been a reminder for everyone, he suddenly found himself surrounded by his house mates.

 

“That was so scary at first! But you did it! You did it!” Seamus exclaimed, appearing next to George. Neville, bold for once pushed Fred slightly out of his way and stammered: “Con... Congratulations, Harry. I knew you could win!” 

Harry grinned back at his shy friend, who had never said a single cruel word to him, not even, as everybody else head.   
“So the Nigis were right after all. You really used a huge snake,” a dreamy voice sounded from behind Neville and a slander hand waved over the boys head.  
“Thank's, Luna,” he answered, even so he could not see the girl, but her voice was unmistakable. But Neville and Luna were shoved to the side by Ginny and Harry saw, that she once again wanted to throw herself around his neck. Panicked, he looked around for a chance to escape, but he was surrounded by too much people. Hermione threw him an apologetic look and he closed his eyes and braced himself for the unavoidable, but the bone-crushing embrace never came, instead, he heard a loud hiss next to his ear and than a shriek.

 

Opening his eyes again, he saw, that Zaida had darted forwards, hissing: “Unworthy female! Too weak, you will never be his mate!”  
Blinking, Zaiders words slowly sank in and a laugh rose in his chest. Not able to keep it inside, he threw his head into his neck and started laughing, loudly and wholeheartedly. He wished the others had understood his familiar, she had hit the nail on it's head.

“What did she say?” Ginny demanded to know, her hand balled into fists and sounding offended.  
But he couldn't answer, he was still laughing to hard and by now Fred, George and even Hermione had joined in on his laughter, with Hermione trying to his it behind her hands, which she had raised in front of her face. Only Ron looked still a bit put out, having not caught onto the situation until now.

 

“What is going on here?” Dean's voice sounded from somewhere in the back of the crowd.  
“Harry's pet insulted me and he is saying nothing against it!” Ginny suddenly cried and turned around to disappear again.  
“I told you often enough to keep away from him!” Dean muttered angrily.  
“But he is a good friend!” Ginny protested.  
“Have you ever asked him, if it sees it the same way?” Dean asked Ginny.  
“Of course he does! He is my brother's best friend. How could it be different?”  
Dean only sight in annoyance and than steps told Harry, that the boy was leaving leaving.

For a short moment Harry feared, tat she would finally break up with Dean and spend the whole evening with annoying him, but than she shouted:  
“Hey, where are you going?”  
More steps told him, that she was leaving as well and he sighed in relieve.

 

Looking around a moment later, he noticed that everybody at the Gryffindor table had fallen silent and an awkward atmosphere had settled over them, until Fred broke it with a long, low whistling sound. “I hope she finally gives up,” the twin sighed, turning to go back to his seat and the others mirrored his action, to Harry's relieve. 

 

Looking back at the table, he decided that he would try some of the men's head as well, he was just too hungry. Carefully, he cut a small peace off and as before, it luckily transformed into something eatable.  
“Um...” Neville suddenly said from across of him. “Where did you find your familiar?”   
Looking down on Zaida, he tried to decide quickly what to tell him. He could not tell the truth, not even a half truth, because it would open too much questions. Oh how he hated to openly lie to people he considered friends. Neville was a good person, he really didn't deserve such a treatment, but he had no real choice in the matter. “I found her egg when I was out in the Forbidden Forrest with Hagrid. Hagrid recognized the egg for what it was and remembered my parseltongue-gift. You know how he is, he wants to save all creatures, regardless of how dangerous, but this one is actually not very dangerous, at least, not after I commanded her to be nice.”

Neville gulped. “You really went into the Forbidden Forrest with Hagrid? I would never go in there!”  
Smirking, Harry told him: “It was my second visit. I had a detention there in my second year, with Malfoy. He almost pissed his pants.”  
Snickers came from a bit further down the table, and when he looked up he saw that Fred and George had listened in. “I can imagine that. He is a coward. Without his parent's name and money, Malfoy would be nothing ore than a little fly,” Fred agreed, while George threw a look over his shoulder to the Slytherin table.  
“Did you had to train your basilisk?” George asked, when he finally turned back to the table.  
“No, Zaida is really intelligent. When I told her what I need to do, she only huffed and told me, it would be no problems, because dragons were afraid of her. I used the time until the first task to get to know her. She only hatched three weeks ago.”

 

“And she never tried to eat one of you?” Fred asked his younger brother and Hermione with an evil gleam in his eyes.   
Hermione only shook her head. “She never did anything. She is really nice,” the girl told them.  
“And protective,” the twins laughed in unison.  
“Yeah, I am glad that I told her to kill no one, until he or she is threatening my live,” Harry muttered, finally taking his first bite of meat and potatoes. “Hmm... that really tastes great!” he exclaimed.  
“Told you so,” Ron said with a roll of his eyes.

The next few minutes went by in silence, as finally all started to eat. The main course disappeared and replaced itself with bowls of chocolate pudding, jelly, ice cream and much more. By now he was able to ignore the eyes in the chocolate pudding, which transformed into whipped cream and vanilla sauce. He ate for two but far too quick the feast was over and Albus vanished all plates with a motion of his hand, before standing up and addressing the students once more: “Now I think, its time for the party to begin! Please stand up.”

 

Harry quickly rose and as soon as he had left his chair it vanished, together with the whole table. The only tables left in the Great Hall were the teacher's table and a long one at the far right of the hall, loaded with drinks and snacks. Music started from nowhere and he threw Ron a panicked look, he hated dancing and he had two left feet.  
Ron cleared his throat and said: “You know, the cool guys always sit at the bar, we could just go over to the table with the drinks and watch...”  
“That's a good...” he answered, but was cut off by Hermione: “Oh no, you guys can dance for once. This isn't even music for a classical dance. You only have to move somehow!”

In the next moment she had him and Ron grabbed by their hands and dragged them off to the middle of the room, where already many students were dancing. The girls around Harry danced with much more grace than he would ever muster. His eyes landed on a tall, blond figure, who danced almost like the girls. Snorting, he shoved his elbow in Ron's side and pointed at Malfoy, who was swinging his hips with the music, his hands tracing the outlines of his body.

“I always new he is a fairy,” Ron snorted in disgust.   
“That certainly is not attractive, at least, if he wants to impress a girl,” Hermione said dryly.  
Suddenly Fred appeared once again next to them, closely followed by George. “Believe me, even for a poncy it's very gay,” the redhead chuckled.  
“What are you implying? I thought your jokes about being gay were only that... jokes,” Ron asked, his voice somewhat higher than normal.  
“Oh, little brother,” George smiled and together with Fred he continued: “Don't ask questions, you don't want to hear the answer to.”  
Ron sputtered, but went silent, before saying: “I need a drink, a strong one. You don't think I get one here?”  
Harry only shook his head, but Fred pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey from his robe pocket, saying: “Wait a moment and the drinks will be much more... enjoyable.” 

Hermione opened her mouth in protest, but before she could say anything, the twins had disappeared once more.  
“Do you think they really meant it?” Ron asked him, looking a bit pale.  
Shrugging, Harry decided to not answer. He could start many theories about the twins, but most started and ended with the thought, that Fred and George really were very close. Why he wasn't as disgusted as Ron, he could not say, but one thing he knew: Ron wouldn't want to hear his opinion.

Hermione spoke suddenly up again, bringing him back to the presence: “But you two will not drink any of their spiked drinks, will you? I think they will not leave it by one bottle of Whiskey.”  
“Of course we will, Mione. This is a rare chance at Hogwarts,” Ron said, but Harry only shrugged again, he had never drunk before, at least if he didn't count the occasional butterbeer, which had even less alcohol than muggle beer. And he doubted, with his small figure, that he would be able to drink much. But one or two glasses should be fine and maybe it would help him with his dancing-problem and make him more relaxed.

So in the end he followed his friend to the food-table and picked up a suspicious looking, green drink, which smelled much stronger than it probably did five minutes ago. Ron pressed one drink into Hermione's hand as well, before taking a huge gulp. “That stuff is great,” the redhead said and motioned for Harry to take a sip as well.   
Eying the drink once more, he carefully tasted the liquid. It was very sweet but also burned like fire in his mouth and throat. He coughed at the strange sensation as warmth spread through his body and directly into his brain. Well, maybe only half a cup after all.

Suddenly thunder roared threw the hall, drowning the loud music momentarily and a bright flash illuminated everybody for a moment.  
Grinning he said: “We really get a thunderstorm for Halloween!”  
“Stupid, loud music and now thunder as well!” Zaida suddenly muttered and started to slither down his shoulder, disappearing in the crowd. Trusting that she would be able to protect herself, he didn's stopp her and turned to his friends.  
Hermione looked nervously up to the ceiling, while Ron, who had drowned his drink already, took a second one for everybody, before starting to go back onto the dance floor. 

Exchanging a look with Hermione, they followed the redhead quickly.

 

In the next hours Harry drowned three more drinks. One red, the second one from a glowing lilac color and the last one blue and with every drink they tasted better and the dancing came easier to him. He laughed and joked with his friends and gave a shit how stupid he had to look, dancing with no once of talent. So he didn't noticed the prickling of his skin, that grew the nearer they came to midnight. Only when his magic started to pulls through his body like shock waves, he noticed that something was clearly wrong, but by now he new no worry and simply assumed, that he had drunk too much and was tired from the dragon, even though he had not done much.

 

It was only ten to midnight, but he grabbed Ron's shoulder and said: “I think, I should go to bed. I am dead tired and feel wired.”  
“Tha's the Firewhi'sy. You don' feel wi-ed, you're drunk!” Ron slurred, patting his shoulder.  
Hermione, who had refused to drink more than one drink eyed him intently and then said: “We will come with you. You look pale, I don't want you to collapse half way up a staircase and fall down after you have just survived a dragon and Ron needs to go and lie down as well.” She decided for them.

“But I'm no' drunk!” Ron protested.  
“Of course you aren't,” Hermione muttered and turned to leave the hall.  
“Well, Let's follow her, won' angry a womam!” Harry told his best friend and followed her, pulling on Ron's arm.   
They stumbled their way through the crowd and Harry missed the amused look of Albus, who watched him with twinkling, blue eyes and a slight shake of his head.   
Shoving a protesting girl to the side, he finally exited the Great Hall. The silence that greeted him in the entrance hall was deafening after the loud music and the colder air prickled on his bare arms. 

 

Hermione stood at the foot of the grand staircase, impatiently waiting. “Hurry up a bit,” she said. “Its nearly midnight already. How did you need so long to find the door?”  
“It was a long way,” he told her intelligently, whilst another pulse of magic went through him. It was getting uncomfortable and slowly the feeling reached his brain, that maybe something was seriously wrong with him. Could that be cost by the alcohol?   
Shaking his head in hope to clear his muddled brain, he went over to the staircase and started to climb up. Ron needed a moment to realize that he had left his side, but than he followed as well. 

 

The stairs of Hogwarts were already hellish on a normal day, but without a functioning balance system it was horror. Looking down the edge, Harrys stomached protested at the hight and dizziness nearly overwhelmed him, even so, he had just stepped onto the second landing. Everything was spinning around him and his pulsating and fluctuating magic added only to his nausea. His skin seemed to crawl and sizzle under his own power, as if he had put his finger into a plug socket. With every pulse the magic grew stronger, until it had reached nearly unbearable degrees Bile rose in his throat and he quickly called out for Hermione: “I think I need to sit down for a little.”

 

Through blurry eyes he saw his bushy haired friend looking at him in concern, her temple furrowed. “Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?”  
Shaking his head, he said, “just sitting down,” knowing that he would never reach the Hospital Wing in his current state.  
“We will just search for an empty class room where you can sit down and then I will go to get Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said, clearly having read his thoughts. 

 

Nodding, Harry watched Hermione winking Ron over. She said something to him, but all sounds sounded distorted. In the next moment, or maybe a minute later, he could not really tell, Ron pulled his arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet, while Hermione supported his other side. Slowly he sat one feet in front of the other, the task feeling harder than to fight a dragon. His vision swam in and out of sight and in his ears spread a loud buzzing, drowning his friends words, until he only could see her lips move as the nearly carried him down an empty corridor.

“It's time!” A voice snickered in his head, but it was not the voice he always talked to. Panicked he looked around, hoping to find a visible source fore it, but despite himself and his friends, who looked now even more worried at his confused expression, there was no one.  
“The time has come!” Another voice answered the first one. It sounded similar to the other, young and old at the same time and somehow malicious.  
“Yes, finally!” A third agreed, snickering happily.

 

He wanted to ask his friends, if they could here them as well, but the situation reminded him too much of his second year, where Hermione had told him: “It is never good to hear voices no one else can hear, not even in the wizarding world.”

 

The pulsating of his magic grew even stronger and colder than ice, until it felt not like his own magic anymore. That frightened him more than anything else and with a sudden rush of strength he wrenched himself free of his two friends. Hermione and Ron tried to grab him, but he was too quick. Panting, he stumbled a few steps forwards, until liquid fire seemed to spread inside his body, burning every vein, every nerve inside of him. A long, agonized scream tore from his throat, just before the pain took all sense of reality from him.

…

Scanning the student's in front of him, Albus eyes fell on his adoptive son and his two friends. They were making their way out of the great hall, probably planning on going to bed already, they were all quite clearly drunk, at least Harry and Mr. Weasley were. Chuckling, he leaned closer to Minerva, who was displease with his action, or lack of it.  
“I do not know, Albus, why you let this happen. You could easily have placed wards around the drinks. Now Severus will have to brew Anti-Hangover-Potion the whole night, if we don't want to deal with two hundred cranky and probably puking students in the morning,” the intelligent witch said.

“Oh but Minerva. Being drunk once in a while is an important part of our youth. I myself remember a great party I had the fortune to stumble over, after you won a Quidditch game against Slytherin in your fifth year;” He chuckled and glanced over to Severus, who looked even more sour than usual. He honestly wished, that something would save the man from his own darkness.

“Well...” Minerva said, but clearly didn't know what to say against his argumentation.  
His eyes wandered back to Harry, who was about to excited the hall now.  
“I think, the students and our guests would have been disappointed, if no one would have succeeded to spike the drinks.  
“But maybe you should have stopped that one Ravenclaw, after the cursed twins already did a fairly good job at mixing Firewhisky in every cup,” Severus sneered.  
“Maybe...” he was saying, when a sudden blast of powerful, dark magic made the castle shake in it's foundation. Goose bumps formed on his skin. This magic had been dark and so hot like the hell itself, that it had literally chilled his skin under his thick robe. And it had been old, even older than the one flowing through his own veins. Whatever this was, it was not Tom Riddle. At least, not in person. It still didn't mean that Voldemort had not s end whoever or whatever had caused this magical shockwave.

 

“Albus!” Minerva shrieked as the students looked confused around. Maybe it was a bliss that they all were so drunk right now.  
Leaping to his feat he commanded: “Keep the students in here, I will search for the source!” He ignored the questioning and haunted look in his Potions Masters Black eyes and hurried over to the hidden door and quickly disappeared through it. He tapped a specific stone with his wand and mumbled: “Entrance Hall,” before slipping through another door as soon as it had formed. He excited through a portrait, his eyes quickly scanning the empty hall. His son was nowhere in side and he could only hope that he and his friends were safely up in their common room. 

The dark magic was still pulsing through the castle, making it easy to follow its trace. Rushing up the stair case, he came to a short halt at the landing to the second floor. Turning left, he ran down the gloomy hallway. The magic got stronger and hotter with every step he took until he was no longer sure that he would be able to defeat the castle from the intruder. The air in front of him was blurring from the unbearable heat and he could feel sweat starting to run down his body, soaking his heavy velvet robes.

Three figures suddenly appeared a few steps in front of him and one was the creature who was emitting the evil magic. From this close, it almost felt, as if the fires of hell where surrounding him. Lifting his wand and muttering a Lumos, he froze in shock as the light of his wand illuminated the faces of Mrs. Hermione Granger and Mr. Ronald Weasley, but he did not recognize the person on the ground at first.

It seemed to be a teenager as well, but just when he tried to focus his eyes even more, magic started to crumble around him like a shattering mirror, revealing a small boy, of maybe nine years, or maybe even less. It was hard to say in the gloomy light. His massy hair was so dark, that it seemed to swallow all light, his skin was white, whilst his skin of his hands and feet grew slowly black and he was completely naked. Than the boy turned his head and one red and one very familiar, green eye caught his own.  
“Harry!” he gasped, the shock making him sway on his feet.  
“Professor, what is happening to him?” Ms. Granger asked, his voice filled with tears.  
“Looking down at his son again, realization clicked in, or at least some realization.  
“Go away from him!” He commanded. “This has to be some kind of inheritance!”

 

“Inheritance?” Ms. Granger repeated. Stepping backwards and pulling her friend along. “But his magic... and he is not even seventeen!”  
“It's some kind of dark creature inheritance, Harry is strong and Halloween enhances the powers of the darkness. It must have triggered this!” He told her, quickly going over and pulling the two teenagers further away.   
By now, wounds had opened all over his son's body. Blood was running from his fingers and toes, where nails transformed into deathly, black claws. Two more where opening between his shoulder blades. They were deeper and blood poured onto the floor from them, covering Harrys back with blood. Another wound just opened at the base of his spine and more blood spilled from his mouth.

With horror he watched his son arch his back in agony and as Harry opened his mouth to scream, Albus could see sharp-like teeth driving out his former ones, which fell silently to the ground.

 

Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger where shaking violently, he could feel it beneath his hands, where he still hold them in place. Their eyes had widened in horror, but there were no words to describe the horrible, agonizing spectacle in front of them.

His son screamed again and as Albus looked up once more, he saw bones growing from the wounds on his back and tailbone. A strong surge of magic arrupted from Harry and to his left and right portrait frames started to smolder. He pointed his wand on one of the nearest portraits, trying to put them out, but neither a Aquamenti, nor a freezing-charm worked. Fortunately the flames seemed to be contained by Harry's magic and did not grow.  
“Is he... growing a tail?” Mr. Weasley asked with a shaking voice, speaking up for the first time. Following his glance, he saw muscles, flash and than black fur starting to cover the still growing chain of bones.  
“And wings?” Ms. Granger asked, pointing at the thin bones on Harry back, which where slowly covering up as well.

He could not answer as he watched black feathers, from the same darkness of his sons hair appear on the base of those wings. More blood started to run down the sides of Harry's head and black horns grew out of his scull, spiraling like screws, until she looked like those of a huge ram.  
Harry's head had lowered under the weight, they must be heavy, as thick and large as they were. Than another two wounds opened on top of his head and two black cat's ears joined the horns, twitching violently, as if to get the blood out of their canals.

 

Suddenly silent giggles and chuckles rose around them and in the next moment black mist seemed to gather in the air around his son, seeping out of every so the, every portrait and every armor in the hallway. More mist came in through the window and rose from the floor, until Harry was completely swallowed by a thick, black cloud.

The snickers grew louder.  
“Finally, finally, finally!” A child-like voice laughed.  
“A body! Our Master will give us a body!” Another voice cheered darkly.  
“What... are these voices?” Ms. Granger asked, now clutching his arm.  
“I do not now,” Albus confessed.  
The first voice sounded again: “Oh and he is so strong! Our best creation!” 

 

This statement now honestly worried Albus, but he could do nothing for his son, as the black cloud seeped into Harry. In the next moment, his sons eyes went completely black and the black missed poured out of them like tears of black blood, now much thicker and compressed than before. 

Harry jerked once, and Albus quickly pulled his son's friends even further away as the boy started to throw up more of the black substance. It gathered around him like a puddle of boiling darkness and still Harry was throwing up more.   
“Can't we help him somehow?” Mr. Weasley asked.  
“I fear there is nothing we can do,” he answered silently.

 

They watched the puddle growing in fascinated horror and after a while ripples joined the bursting bubbles on the surface, but even he had not anticipate to see a small, misty-black hand rise from it, searching for a spot of solid floor and starting to pull it' small body from it. The creature that appeared, looked like a maybe four year old child. It had two small horns on his head, like those of cows and a thin tale with a triangular tip, that looked like the devil's tail Albus had seen once in a muggle's book.

Another wave of blackness left his son's mouth, while the creature stepped to the side and kneeled down, his head bowed respectfully. A movement to the side made Albus aware of a second creature leaving the puddle. It had no horns, was a bit taller and had two small bat-like wings.

 

In the next half an hour he, together with his son's friends could only watch how Harry threw up more and more and more creatures exited the puddle. When there where about twenty of them, his son finally stopped throwing up. One of the shadows, the tallest and oldest looking one stood up, stepped forwards and with a snap of his fingers strange looking, black clothes covered his sons body.

Albus would never have allowed any of his students to walk around like this and least of all his son, regardless of how openminded he was, they were still children after all, but creatures often had their own fashion, so for now he would try to ignore the low riding, tight trousers, the short, black waistcoat, that not even covered his son's navel and the black leather high boots with the pointy heel.

Shaking his head, he finally let go of the two teenagers hands and took a careful step closer to his son. His magic had finally calmed down, but the air around Harry was still burning on his skin like hot steam. Trying to suppress his shock, Albus took another step closer. He could not tell, what shocked him the most: That he still could not recognize the creature Harry had turned into, or that his son had hidden a huge secret from all of them. Why was he so small? His body, his face, all of him was that of an small child and the magic breaking around him as he had arrived, had been glamours. 

When Harry had told the aurors, that he hid his scars, he had believed his son. How could he have ever imagined something like this?

…

“Master.”   
The voice of a child brought him back to reality. He was still panting heavily. The last minutes, or maybe hours had been a blur of pain and agony. There had been no part of him that had not hurt. His head, his back, every cell in his body, and it still hurt. That surely had not been the alcohol, at least, he felt sober again and he had also finally stopped sweating.

“Master,” the voice said again. Looking up, he came face to face with something, that looked like a human-shaped, black shadow. Only that it had red, gleaming eyes and wings, horns and a tail. Around himself and the figure were even more shadows kneeling. They all were black, had those gleaming eyes, but beside that they all seemed about four or five years old, they had nothing else in common. A few looked like normal children. Others had some animal features, like different wings and horns.   
“Master?” The child in front of him repeated. It looked older than the others, maybe six years old.  
“Do you mean me?” He asked in confusion, his voice sounding raspy and his throat burned like fire.

 

“Yes, you are our Master. That is what we created you for,” the shadow answered.  
“Who are you?” he asked in irritation. There was no way he could be the master of this evil looking creatures.  
“We are the embodiment of your power. The ancient, dark magic. We are your servant, because only threw you, we finally got our bodies back.

Harry understood nothing what the boy in front of him was telling him. If it was a boy at all, because he didn't look very human.  
“That can't be right. I am a human, a wizard and you are...”  
“You are not human,” the shadow told him. “You are of the oldest blood.”

Finally getting desperate because of the confusing answers, he looked up even more and started to search for someone, anyone, who could possible help him out of this situation. To his relieve his eyes fell on his guardian, who stood only a few feet away from him.  
“Albus,” he said, feeling helpless. His name must have pulled Albus from his stupor, or daze, or what ever state he had been in, because in the next moment he simply stepped through the shadows, grabbed one of his arms and pulled him up. For a split second he thought he heard Albus hiss, but when he turned his head to look at the man, he could see now pain there and shrugged the sensation off. His brain was probably only muddled from the party and what ever had happened to him.

 

“Harry, I fear he is right.”  
More panic rose inside of him and his heart started to race even worse than it had in front of the Horntail. What had happened to him now? Was he doomed to a life with surprises no one would ever want to experience? Would this set him further apart from his friends, his class mates and all other normal people?  
“You have come into an creature inheritance,” Albus explained calmly.  
“A... creature inheritance?” he breathed silently. Somehow he feared to repeat the words, as if it would make the whole thing true. “What kind of... creature?” He asked.

 

Albus shook his head. “I can not tell. I did never see someone like...” Albus broke off, but after a second he advised: “I think you should see yourself.”  
Harry tried to brace himself as the man pulled out his wand, swung it once and a huge mirror appeared in front of him, fearing that whatever he would see next would be even worse than he imagined right now. 

And he was right. His reflection shocked him so much that he nearly passed out. That couldn't be him... that couldn't be possibly him, he thought desperately. He was human, he was only a wizard, he could not look like this creature he saw in the mirror.   
There, in front of him stood not the teenager with the dark brown, messy hair and the knobby knees, he had created with his glamours, nor stood there the younger version of himself.   
His hair had turned the darkest shade of black he had ever seen. It seemed even to swallow some of the light around him and contrasted harshly with the whiteness of his skin. But if he said whiteness, he meant it literally. He had not the pail taint some people had, like the Malfoys, or Snape, but a truly white color.

 

His eyes seemed huger in his haggard face, which still held the round cheeks of a boy, they had never really left him, regardless of how much the Dursleys had starved him. His cheekbones were higher now, his nose straighter, giving him a more aristocratic look and taking some of the resemblance he had always had to his late father. His lips were a sinful, blood red, so was his right eye. It also had a slitted pupil now, while the other was still green and human-like. Somehow, even though he looked clearly inhuman now, his face reminded him of someone, but he couldn't say whom it was and his attention quickly wandered to the other new body parts he had gained.

 

Two black horns had grown out of the side of his head and a sat of cat's ears peaked through the mop of his still unruly, but now black hair.  
Lowering his eyes to the rest of his body, he noticed two large, also black wings behind his reflection. Craning his neck, he checked, if they really belonged to him. Unfortunately they clearly did, so did apparently the black, long, fury tale at the base of his spine. The wings were so huge, that the longest feather brushed the floor. Trying to touch the feathers, he stopped as he saw his hands and arms. 

His skin had turned black, like strange gloves, that reached up to the middle of his upper arms, but at least it still was skin and not more fur or feathers. His nails had also turned black and were now sharp and pointy.

The clothes he wore looked not a bit less strange. How he had changed into a new outfit in the first place, he could not say, but even so they looked like nothing he had ever seen, he somehow felt comfortable in them and something inside of him purred appreciatingly. 

The trousers was very tight, black and at the same time nearly transparent like those black silk stockings some muggle women liked to wear. Luckily they still managed to cover all private parts of him. Instead of a shirt he wore a sleeveless waistcoat, which was only buttoned in the middle with one single, silver button and covered only half of his navel, leaving not much to the imagination. His feet where covered by black, leather high boots. They ended just bellow his knees, their tips were pointed upward and their heels sharp like needles.

What kind of creature looked like this? What had he turned into? Was he some find of cat, or more a bird? He couldn't possibly say. 

“Master?” The voice of his servant interrupted his musing.  
Albus helped him to turn around, he was too shaky on his legs to stand alone on his feet.  
“Yes?” he asked back tersely, not really in the mood to talk with whatever this shadow was.  
“Why are you not by your mate-fathers side?”  
Mate-father? Harry had never heard this word before and by Albuss facial expression, neither had he.   
“I have no mate and no real father,” he therefore answered.  
The shadow seemed to frown before saying: “You must go to him, or you will die.”  
Harry felt Albus stiffen next to him and a lump dropped down into his stomach, the shadows reaction didn't made it any better. 

“Who is Harry's mate-father?” the man asked, speaking to the shadow for the first time, but the shadow seemed miffed about the situation and only turned his head away, clearly not willing to answer. 

A hand of ice seemed to clutch around his heart. He would die, he knew it. Without this other creature, he would not live many more days and the only one who could help him was refusing to give him any informations. After all what he had survived- three encounters with Voldemort himself, beating, starvation and a dragon on top of it, it would end now, before he ever have had a chance of really living, of ending school, marrying,´and of growing old.

 

He did not notice his breathing become quick and shallow as he started to hyperventilate, until Albus shook him violently.  
“Harry, do not panic my son. We will find your... mate-father, or another solution.”  
The promise calmed him down a bit, at least enough for him to stop hyperventilating. Albus was the greatest wizard of this century, he would find a way.

Albus watched him for another minute, before focussing back on the shadow: “Can you at least tell us, what a mate-father is?” Albus tried another approach, but the creature still said nothing and the others clearly obeyed their leader and stayed silent as well. Some of the ice creeped back inside of him, but the protective hold of Albus helped him to not panic again.

 

“Professor?”   
Harry quickly looked up at the sound of Hermione's voice. Only now did he remember, that he had been on his way to the tower with his two friends.  
“Shouldn't we bring him to Madame Pomfrey?” She asked, worry audible in her voice.  
“Yes, we should certainly do that,” Albus answered.

He didn't really want to spend the night in the Hospital wing, but even he realized, that it probably would be for the better and maybe Pomfrey would have a strong Pain-Potion for him.   
“Could you try to fold your wings a little?”  
He blinked at Albus' request. He had yet to realize that he had grown some new body parts, how should he even fold his wings?  
“Just try to move them a little first,” Albus advised him and closing his eyes, he tried if he could somehow feel his wings, like he could feel his arms. First he felt nothing at all, but than the odd sensation of having four arms entered him. Concentrating on the new set of arms, he tried to move them up and down a few times.  
“Very good, by boy,” Albus encouraged him, so he tried to bent them, and actually could feel, how they drew closer to his back before folding neatly.

Opening his eyes again, he grinned up at Albus, at least one thing had gone well this evening. Albus smiled back, before banding down and in the next moment he was picked up bridal-style. Over Albus's shoulder he watched the shadows standing up as well and in the next moment they all moved closer to their leader and started to disappear inside of him, as if they were in fact only one being.  
“Ms. Granger, would you please go ahead and look around every corner? I think it will be the best, if the other students do not yet find out about Harrys inheritance,” Albus asked, in a voice, that broke no argument.  
Hermione quickly nodded and went ahead, while Ron automatically stayed a few steps behind them, looking over his shoulder now and then. 

Luckily the corridors were still empty. The others were probably still having fund down in the Great Hall, Harry thought with a long sigh.  
He really felt stupid to be carried once again, but even without standing on his legs they were shaking. To his right the shadows where following him on the walls, apparently they could take in the form of real shadows and whenever they met another shadow, from an armor or something else, they disappeared for a short moment. 

They needed relatively long to reach their destination, because they stopped at every corner until Hermione gave her ok. But finally she opened the double door for them and Albus carried him through into the dark hospital room.

“Poppy?” Albus called out and a light flickered to life at the far back, where Harry new Madame Pomfrey's personal office and quarters were located.  
“Yes, Albus?” She answered, coming out of her rooms, clad in a long night down. As soon as her eyes fell on him she gasped. “By Merlin, what happened? Is that Mr. Potter again?”  
“Indeed. He just received a magical inheritance. It was a very painful matter, so would you please take a look at him?” Albus asked, walking over to an empty bed in the far, right corner.

“Oh I can imagine that it it had been painful,” the Matron answered and quickly came over. Ron and Hermione followed him as well, but sat down on the bed next to him to leave more space for the nurse to move and check him over.

Albus laid him down, and it was an odd sensation to lay on a pair of wings. They were strangely soft, far softer than anything he had felt before, but an unpleasant feeling told him, that he was also laying on his tale and not in a good way apparently. Groaning, he searched with one hand for the new appendage and pulled it from beneath him as soon as he had found it.

“A tail as well?” Madame Pomfrey asked, her eyebrows raised as she scanned him with her eyes, listing: “And cat ears, and horns and... are these gloves?” She pointed at his black hands and arms.  
“No,” he simply answered, feeling a bit ashamed about his inhuman new look.  
“Well then,” she continued, waving her wand. After a moment a piece of parchment appeared in front of her and she picked it from the air, reading it.

“You apparently have some wounds on your body. But they should not be too deep. Otherwise your muscles are probably are very sore... I will give you a pain potion and put some Healing-Salve on these wounds... Oh, and... by Merlin! You are burning, Mr. Potter!”  
She suddenly exclaimed and placed a hand on his forehead, only to pull it quickly back with a hiss. “Do you feel feverish?” she asked while looking into his eyes.  
“No, I feel fine...” Harry answered, glancing over to Albus. Apparently he had not imagined the painful hiss earlier.   
“Do you feel otherwise strange? Or is something hurting especially bad?” Madame Pomfrey pulled him from his thoughts.

“My mouth feels raw and my throat hurts and...” he tried to concentrate. There was something else, but he could not really put his finger to it. “I...” he tried to explain. “I... don't feel like myself,” he finally managed.  
“That does not surprise me,” Madame Pomfrey said. “You magical signature has changed quite a lot... You will have to get used to and probably trie to cast some easy spells before joining classes again... but now open you mouth, please,” she commanded and Harry quickly did as told. 

Madame Pomfrey pulled out a flat piece of wood, before pressing his tongue down with it. “By Merlins, that is quite a remarkable set of teeth...” she said, but didn't explain more. “You have probably screamed to much, your throat is very raw, even bloody. I will give you a potion for it,” she explained then, before removing the wood and hurrying away.

 

“What's wrong with my teeth?” He asked as soon as she was gone. Albus didn't answer and merely conjured another mirror, a smaller wand this time. Opening his mouth as wide as he could, he saw razor sharp, shark-like teeth reflecting the light of the few candles around him. His tongue also seemed a bit thiner, longer and pointier, at least it wasn't forked.

Snapping his mouth shut, he cleared his throat in embarrassment and glanced over to his friends, who smiled sheepishly back.  
“So, there we go,” Madame Pomfrey said as she returned a second later, handing him two potions.  
Eying the two viols suspiciously, Harry wondered, if he would get away with only taking the pain potion, it wasn't orange like the other one at least, but Albus, who must have read his thoughts or simply knew him too well said. “You better drink both of them, my boy.” His voice was a bit too friendly, so he decided to not test Albus' patience this night and quickly uncorked the orange viol and drowned it in one gulp. It tasted horrible like all potions. Shuddering, he drank the Pain-Potion as well, before accepting a goblet of pumpkin juice, which tasted not much better for some reason.

“I will cover your wounds with this Healing-Salve now and then you can change into... something more appropriate to sleep in, Mr. Potter,” Pomfrey told him and opened a jar with a yellow salve. It smelled very strongly of herbs and his nose twitched a few time at the biting scent.

Pomfrey started at his head, covering the skin around his new pair of ears and horns. The salve was cool and instantly soothed the wounds. When she was finished she covered his fingertips, where his nails had grown painfully into claws, before waving her wand and covering every single one of them in bandages. She then spelled his boots off and to his displeasure he saw, that the skin of his feet and ankles had blacked as well.

He sighed at the same time as Madame Pomfrey did and braced herself for the tickling sensation of having his toes covered in cream as well. Afterwards he had to turn on his stomach, but Madame Pomfrey did not continue at his wings but exclaimed: “What is that, Albus?”

From the corner of his eyes he saw Albus and his friends coming closer and banding over his back.  
“A tattoo, I would assume,” Albus said neutrally.  
Great, he thought, now he even had a tattoo on his back, or wherever. “What kind of tattoo?” he asked, his voice sounding dry.

“It's a black ram, with a golden crown hovering over it's horns,” Hermione told him.  
“Yeah,” Ron added. “And there is something written beneath it.”  
“Azrael,” Albus said musingly.  
“What?” Harry asked, never having heard the word.  
“The word beneath the ram is a name, Azrael.”

 

Suddenly the shadow he had talked to before stepped from the wall where it had watched from above them, making Madame Pomfrey scream in shock.  
“It's ok, he is not dangerous,” Albus said quickly.   
“What is that?” Pomfrey asked and Harry was sure, she was eyeing his servant suspiciously.  
“The embodiment of his magic,” Albus told her, making the impression that he knew exactly what the shadow had meant by that.

 

“Azrael, a powerful and royal name, appropriate of your blood and standing. The crown is proof of it,” the shadow said, interrupting the others.  
“A royal name?” Harry asked, thinking that sounded too dubious for his liking.  
“Yes, Master. How could it be different with your mate-father?” The shadow asked.  
He got more and more the feeling, that the shadow did not mean his real father with that title, but how the word mate should be connected to any father, he could not fathom and he was getting far to tired to think about it right now, but he would certainly get some more answers from the shadow tomorrow.

 

“Well, then let us continue,” Madame Pomfrey said wearily and in the next moment the cool salve was put onto his back, making him shiver. When she was finished with the base of his wings, she quickly moved on to the base of his tail, darkly muttering: “As if facing a dragon at his age would not have been enough. She then waved her wand and suddenly his clothes laid neatly piled on a chair next to his bed and he wore the typical Hospital Wing Pajama. 

 

Turning carefully back on his back, he slowly sat up, leaning against the headrest, while watching Madame Pomfrey turn to his friends and adoptive father.  
“I will allow you to stay for ten more minutes, but he really needs some rest soon. Inheritances are always tiering, but this one almost ripped his whole body apart. It changed his whole system,” she said, handing the paper she was still holding to Albus, before placing another viol onto his nightstand and leaving them alone.

For a long moment no one said anything. Harry didn't know what to say, he only hoped that his friends would not abandon him now, where he had turned in some kind of creature. He had no idea how to feel about it. One the one side it still was a huge shock, on the other, some kind of instinct was already accepting his new body and was making him feel quite comfortable, as if he had broken out of a too tight cage, so he really couldn't say yet.

 

Someone moved at the edge of his sight and he looked up again. Hermione stepped hesitatingly nearer and sat down at the edge of his bed.  
“How... how are you feeling?” she asked, grabbing his hand softly and frowning at her own question. It seemed too less for this moment, but he couldn't have find more appropriate words himself.

“I... don't know. It's wired,” he said.  
“Why?” Ron asked, stepping up next to Hermione.  
“Because...” Harry started, trying to phrase what he was feeling. “Some part of me feels so comfortable with... this...” He waved with his free hand over his new body. “And a rest of me is shocked and disgusted... I mean, I am... I don't even know what I am now...”  
“Oh Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, letting go of his hand to hug him tightly. “Humanity,” she continued, sitting up again, “starts not at your appearance, it starts in your heart.”

 

“Ms. Granger is right,” the soft voice of his guardian agreed, placing a hand on his left shoulder. Being good or evil, human or a monster... our decisions decide who we are, not our appearance or our magic.”

“Is that really true?” he asked in a whisper, suddenly noticing how cold and dark his magic now felt. A shiver ran down his spine, he knew only one person which magic felt equally dark and that thought frightened him. At least his magic had not turned equally cold as well, or he would not be able to look himself in the eyes anymore.  
“It is,” Albus reassured him. “Sirius, as a son of the Black family, has one of the darkest magical cores I have ever seen in a men beside of Tom Riddle himself. But he is also one of the kindest. He never wanted to be dark and evil. He decided to use his dark magic only for light spells. It was a hard task, because for a dark wizard light magic is harder to accomplish, but he suppressed the darkness within him and succeeded.”

A warm fluttering of hope made Harry's heart shiver at Albuss words. Even if his magic really was dark now, he did not need to become like Voldemort. It lay in his own hands. 

“There is no way you could ever turn dark, mate!” Ron suddenly said with a stern look on his face.  
Smiling weakly, Harry wiped a single tear away, that had escaped his now blood red eye “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely. That his friends and Albus believed so strongly in him was the best help he could wish for in this moment.

Suddenly a huge yawn escaped him and he finally realized, how truly exhausted he was. He had fought a dragon, gotten drunk and sober again by the most painful inheritance that was possibly existing on earth, and that all in one day.

His friends chuckled softly and Albus said: “I think we will take our leave now. Sleep well, my son.”  
“Sleep well,” his friends echoed.

“You too and don't stand up early tomorrow because of me, I am sure I will sleep until lunch,” he grinned and winked at Hermione, who blushed.  
“Nothing will get me awake before dinner, don't worry,” Ron laughed and they all turned around, leaving the Hospital Wing.

Harry watched the door close behind them and sank down into his pillows. For a short moment he thought about the promise he had given his other friend, but he decided that he could tell him tomorrow about Harry Potter's spectacular victory by using a dark skill.

 

Turning on his sight, he wriggled around for a moment. His pajama bottoms were pressing uncomfortably against the underside of his new tail and he growled in frustration. This new body part of his was really sensitive and the waistband was hurting him. This way, he would find no sleep.

Turning on his stomach, he called for Madame Pomfrey again, who immediately came over, worry on her face.  
“Is something wrong, Mr. Potter?” She asked, probably looking down on him, but he couldn't see it right now.  
“Nothing bad,” he quickly reassured him. “But could you cut a whole in my pants and pull my tail through, or at least give me a scissor? The waistband is hurting.”  
“I think I will better do that fore you. We don't need a tail to regrow this evening on top of it all, do we?”  
Nodding, Harry waited patiently for the Matron to cut a round whole into his bottoms. It was a strange feeling to get his tail pulled threw, but the pain instantly vanished.

“Thank you,” he said when Madame Pomfrey was finished.  
“No problem my dear,” she answered and then added: “Now take the Sleeping-Potion and go to bed. You really need the rest.”  
Nodding again, he took the viol which still stood on his nightstand and drowned it obediently. The effect was instant and he hadn't even time to watch Pomfrey leave, before blissful darkness swallowed him.

 

8\. Within three days:

 

Entering his library, Voldemort went straight to the far back where the basket where his young snakes still stood in front of the fireplace. They had already hatched a few weeks ago, but had yet to leave the warm haven of their nest for the first time. 

 

Sitting down in the armchair next to them, he watched them for a moment, trying to calm himself down. He would have preferred some prisoner or even one off his followers for a outlet, but neither option was currently available. 

 

The day of the first task and yesterday he had once again tried to get to his locked away memories, but with not more success than the last time. His mind was currently protecting the informations and with every passing day the feeling, that these memories were not only important but crucial for his future grew exponentially. He had tried every method he could think off, even some relaxing exercises, which had made him feel stupid for the first time in his life, but the cabinet stayed closed.

 

By now he was neglecting all other tasks he had as a Dark Lord, but fortunately none of his followers had noticed it yet. Right now it was a blessing that they were still at the beginning of overtaking the wizarding world and things still progressed slowly.

Furthermore he had not been able to make any progress with the search for demons.  
He had visited every single one of his followers who was in possession of an library (and that was nearly everyone), had gained entrance to some of the heavily warded wizarding libraries around the world, he had even read through texts written by creatures and muggles, but nothing than the fairytales Albert Jonson had already found. His mood was at it's lowest point since the destruction of his second Horcrux and word had already spread to his followers. They of course had mentioned nothing, but he had noticed it at the slightly longer period of time they needed to appear in front of him. 

He prided himself to be a patient man, able to wait for the right time, the right opportunity, but the combination of his unsuccessful research and failed attempt to free his memories a was more than testing his abilities.

But fortunately something good had happened also. Yes, he could feel and see it. The darkness in his prodigy's magic had taken over it's core, which meant that it had finally come into it's inheritance. It's power had grown exponentally and was now even closer to his level of power than even Albus Dumbledor's or Potter's. But it did not concern him, because the inheritance had clearly been a dark one and no dark creature wold step in his way or join the old fool's side. 

 

The thought of the child's enormous dark powers made him instantly hard once again. It had been like this ever since his realization. There was nothing as arousing as a strong wizard; hopefully the child was a wizard and not a witch, otherwise it would be most unfortunate and frustrating, he never had been able to find anything appealing about the female body. And the thought of louring a child into his bed made him even more aroused. A pity, that the child was not two, or maybe three years younger, but it's child like voice would make up for it's age, at least, if it was a boy. Yes, the young flesh was as good as bringing down strong men in his bedroom, maybe even better, he smirked maliciously.

 

Ignoring his painful erection, he leaned forwards and lifted a tiny, yellow and black serpent from the basket. She was one of those ward-resistant snakes and would soon be send on her first spying-task.

 

Stroking her smooth scales, he retreated back into his mind and opened the door to the link again, hoping to find his obsession finally awake, he wanted to find out more about it's inheritance. To his displeasure the other's mind seemed still very blank, but that would not stop him on this point:  
“Are you finally awake?” he asked into the silence.  
A groan was his answer. Chuckling, he asked: “Had a wild night, or did something more happen? Your magic seems different this morning.”  
He could of course have asked directly after an inheritance, but he wanted to know how much the child was already trusting him. 

 

“A very wild night, you could put it like this,” the child retorted, it's voice sounding hoarse.  
Frowning inwardly, he tried to come up with a plan for how to make the prodigy trust him more. Sure, a magical inheritance was something very private and should be protected from the wrong people, but he was Lord Voldemort and would not accept reservation. This child would be his; completely. But maybe, a bit idle talk would help build that trust, they didn't know each other for very long, after all and he always preferred wise carefulness over stupid riskyness (like those Gryffindors seemed to prefer).

 

“You yet have to tell me, how the first task ended,” he prompted, even so he already new the answer from Barty.

 

The child didn't answer for a moment, most likely trying to gather it's muddled thought and hopefully grabbing a pain potion, because he could feel the pounding headache even from this distance.  
“Potter won,” it answered finally. “He used some sort of snake... I think he called it binding basilisk... or something, it really freaked the hell out of me.”  
“How did he control the basilisk?” He asked, faking interest.  
“Oh, he used parseltongue. There had been rumors in his second year, but I never believed them to be true,” it told him.

 

“Interesting,” he said. “Our hero is a parselmouth after all.”  
“Yeah,” the child retorted.  
Changing the topic, Voldemort said: “I will talk to you later again and you better use the time and get a Pain-Potion, I can feel your headache through the link.”  
“Oh, I am sorry, I didn't realize...,” the child said suddenly hastily, making a smirk appear on his lips. The prodigy was concerned about his wellbeing, that meant, he had started to become important to the boy or girl, the situation was not as bad as he had thought it to be. “Do not worry, I can easily handle it,” he reassured the child and then left the link with the words: “Until later, then.”

 

Opening his eyes again, Voldemort felt much better. He had learned something very important about the young student just now. He was his goal closer than he had imagined. Now, he only needed to wait for an opportunity to make the child fully open up to him, than it would be his with body and soul.

 

…

 

“Hey mate, finally awake?” Harry groaned again, this time not because of the head-splitting sound, but at the bright light in the Hospital Wing. The rest of his body hurt as well, like the most hellish muscle ache he had ever experienced, but his head was the worst. He certainly would never have touched one of the spiked drinks from Fred and George, if he had known that he would receive an inheritance only hours later. Putting his right arm over his eyes, he listened to some shuffling and than a viol was pressed into his hand and Hermione said softly, but still far too loud: “Drink this, Madame Pomfrey foresaw that you would need it.”   
Her voice was making his ears ring painfully and the headache spiked,

 

Thankfully taking the viol, he drowned it quickly and was relieved when his headache and most of his muscle-pains disappeared. After waiting another few seconds, just to be save, he sat up and looked at his friends. They both looked very concerned and relieved at the same time.

 

“What time is it?” He asked after a moment, when no one said anything. The sun was already very bright outside, the thunderstorm had disappeared and considering that Ron was also already awake, he probably had slept until noon.

 

“Only ten,” answered Ron, his voice still sounding loud and ringing in his head, even now after the headache had gone.  
“Could you please speak not so damn loud?” he asked, rubbing his ears.  
“What? But I am speaking normally,” Ron retorted irritatedly.  
“That can't be...” Harry started to protest, but hermione cut him off:  
“Really Harry, that Ron doesn't remember your new ears is one thing, but you should.”  
His eyes widened and his hands shot up, placing themselves over his cat ears. They twitched at the contact, but the noises grew instantly more silent. Only now did he realize, that he had also heard Pomfrey shuffling in her office and silent conversations from students outside the Hospital Wing.

 

Now where he had realized one difference at himself, the others came crashing down on him as the last bit of drowsiness vanished from his system: His nose was prickling from all the strong smells of cleaning agents, herbs and other medicine; his head felt suddenly so much heavier, as if he was wearing a head made from steal, but it only were his horns; he was once again sitting on his tail and following an impulse, he once again pulled it from beneath him, before dropping it hastily at his side, and lastly, his huge wings seemed to pull him backwards. 

 

He also felt very restless, as if he needed desperately to search for something and he was hungry, more hungry than ever before in his life, it almost seemed to eat him from the inside and his now burning hot magic was swirling more powerful than ever beneath his skin. Hopefully that were all differences he would notice on himself, but he wasn't really sure.

 

Bracing himself, he once again lifted his hands up to his cat ears and started to examine them. They were as unbelievingly soft as his wings and tails and even under his own touch very sensitive, he would need to be careful that no one else tried to touch them. He really needed to get used to his new body, it didn't feel especially uncomfortable after all, quite the opposite to be honest, but it just was so new.

 

A giggling noise brought him out of his musing and glancing up, he saw Hermione watching him with amusement. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, he let his hands fall again and cleared his throat:   
“Well, then I haven't slept too long at least. Wouldn't have thought to see you up so soon,” he said, grinning at his redheaded friend, but for once the boy didn't retort his smile.  
Something was definitively off here. Looking over to Hermione, he saw that the girl was chewing her bottom lip, something she only did when especially agitated and concerned.

 

“What's wrong, guys? Just spit it out,” he prompted them.  
Hermione shook her head once, but then told him: “It's ten in the morning, but on Sunday. You slept for nearly one and a half day.”  
“Oh,” he said, shocked.  
“... and after what this shadow said, we were worried, but he also told us to be not worried... yet,” Ron added with a grimace. 

 

Sighing, he said: “I will try to talk to him again. But I doubt that it will help any, or did he seemed less insulted yesterday?”  
Ron and Hermione shook their heads and he watched the two as they sat down in the chairs next to his bed. One other wooden chair was standing there, as if people had been sitting guard at his bedside, but his thoughts were once again interrupted, when Hermione asked:  
“So, are you feeling different?”

 

Frowning, he looked out of the windows for a moment. It didn't make really sense to hide anything from them anymore, so he turned back, shrugged and told them truthfully: “I feel very different. My ears and nose are so much more sensitive and all these new body-parts are simply strange, I can't even move all of them yet and they are so heavy. But... I don't believe that my character has changed any, even though my magic has...”

 

“Um...” Ron looked sheepishly at him, as if not being sure, if he should asked the question that was laying on his tongue.  
“Just ask. I think you have the right,” Harry told him with a small smile. “You two are my best friends, this concerns you also... and its a bit scary, isn't it?”   
“Yeah,” his friend agreed and flushed in the next moment, before rubbing the back of his head and finally asking: “You know, you don't only look different because of these horns...” Ron made a vague gesture towards his body in general, before continuing: “Is it because of these inheritance that you look so young now? Because if not, than I should never have given you these drinks...”

 

Oh well, now or never, he thought, blushing furiously. “I looked always like this, I mean, I looked like this even before my inheritance.”  
“What?” Ron exclaimed, paling to an sick looking color. “How old are you, then?”  
This was getting really humiliating. Pulling his legs up to his chest, he turned his face away as he answered: “I am fourteen, but...” breaking off, he shook his head, he could not say it.

 

“But what, mate?” Ron asked, but Hermione was the one who answered: “But you don't feel like fourteen. Am I right?”  
Harry nodded once, burying his face in the blanket on top of his legs.  
“Oh Harry,” Hermione said softly, pulling him into a soft embrace. “Have you ever talked with Dumbledore about this?”  
“No,” he answered silently.   
“Do you know, when you have stopped growing?” Hermione pressed on.  
Thinking for a moment, he answered: “I believe with nine.”  
“And...” Hermione swallowed once, “do you feel more like nine years old or more like fourteen?”

 

Stiffening, he buried his face further into his female friend's robe. “How should I know? I believe more like nine, but I never had a teddy-bear, I never had cars to play with!” Hot tears started to gather in his eyes as he realized the full extend of the absurdity of his life.   
Hermione started to rub his back soothingly, making calming noises, while he couldn't stop his tears from spilling over. He had never realized how huge the strain of his secrets had gotten and now he could do nothing else but let go of his feelings. 

 

He felt Ron sitting down on his other side, before his friend started patting his back awkwardly as well. Slowly his tears subsided and finally, he wiped his face clean and sat up again.  
“I am sorry,” he mumbled.  
“It's ok,” Hermione said with a reassuring smile. 

 

“But how... we never noticed...” Ron said weakly, staring at him.  
Shrugging, Harry said: “I got quite good with glamours over the years.”  
Hermione's eyes widened suddenly: “Your glamours! Are you wearing any of them now?”  
Frowning, Harry shook his head, not understanding where his friend was getting at.  
“Your scars, they are all gone!” She gasped and Ron's eyes widened as well, his blue eyes checking his face and arms.  
“What?!” Harry exclaimed, looking down on his arms as well, were, indeed, no scar was left.

 

“Your new magic must have healed them,” Hermione whispered in awe.  
A broad smile stretched over his face as the feeling of purification overwhelmed him. Gone, they were all gone. He was free from any trace of his past, now he could finally start to heal and forget. A happy laugh bubbled in his throat and he hugged his two friends in joy. Maybe this inheritance was really something good. Ron and Hermione hugged him back, smiling almost as broadly as he himself. 

 

The sound of someone clearing his throat made them look up and Harry's eyes fell on Albus, who smiled at him with twinkling eyes.  
“It's good to see you up and about again, my boy,” the man said and came over to sit down on one of the free chairs.   
“Thank's,” he grinned at Albus.

 

“Um... I think we will leave for now,” Hermione said and stood up, pulling Ron to his feed as well. “We will come back later.”  
“Ok,” Harry said, watching them leave through the curtains around his bed before turning back to his Albus. “How long were you standing there?” he asked with another grin, knowing that Albus was just as huge an ears dropper than he himself.   
His Albus didn't answer directly, but said: “I think you should not worry about your young appearance. Whatever creature you are now, it is probably part of you. It is likely, that your body stopped growing so early, to make the actual inheritance easier for your system.”

 

That, in a way, answered his question, Harry thought, lifting one eyebrow, but Albus simply continued.  
“I think we have a lot to discuss, if you feel capable.”  
He simply nodded, knowing that it would not help to put this conversation off.  
“Have you already eaten?” Albus asked and waved his wand, before he could even answer. A tray with breakfast appeared on is lap, loaded with scrambled eggs, sausages and blueberry muffins. Looking down, he wrinkled his nose. This all smelled very unappealing, too heavy and old somehow. Carefully, to not draw attention to it, he shoved it a bit further away from him and asked: “So, what do you want to talk about, Albus?”

 

Albus smiled softly and then said: “We need to talk about your continuation of your classes.”  
Immediately thinking about Umbridge, Harry gasped: “Has Umbridge thrown me out of Hogwarts?”  
Albus raised a curious eyebrow. “No, nothing drastic like this. I merely believe, it would be wise to keep your inheritance a secret for the time being. It would not be good if word reached Tom that you have come into a dark inheritance and it also would make the problems with the Ministry more complicated. They would not take it well to see their hero having changed so drastically.  
Harry snorted. “I am not there hero anymore.”  
“You might be right,” Albus sighed. “But still I believe it would be the best for now.”

 

Not really wanting to explain his new appearance to two hundred noisy students, who would believe everything that would be spread by Skeeter in the Prophet, he nodded in acceptance.   
“Very good. I already talked with Minerva about the matter, there is a strong transfiguration, which will be more save than a simple glamour. She will visit you later.” Albus made a short pause, in which Harry moved some of his food around to make it appear lesser than before, before Albus asked: “Do you have spoken to the shadows again?”

 

Shaking his head, he told Albus: “Not yet, I only awoke an hour ago or so.”  
“Then maybe you could call them now?” Albus suggested.

 

Not being sure if they would even listen, Harry shrugged, but called: “Shadows, are you there?”   
The shadow he had spoken before to appeared immediately at the wall above him, leaning forwards, so that only his lower body and legs were still attached to the stones.  
“Yes, Master?” He asked politely and bowed respectfully with his right hand lifted to rest over his heart.  
“What shall I ask him?” Harry asked with a look at Albus. Albus eyed the shadow for a moment, before answering: “Just ask him, what he is willing to tell you about your inheritance and ask question when they come to your mind.”

 

“Er...ok...I'll do that,” he retorted and turned back to face the shadow. “Could you tell me a bit more about my inheritance? Just what you are ready to tell me?”  
The shadow seemed to think about it for a moment, but then nodded.  
“You are a being of the ancient dark magic, from the begin of time.”  
Frowning, Harry asked: “What do you mean by ancient dark magic? Is there more then one type of dark magic?”

 

The shadow nodded. “There is. Back when the earth was born, there was no light, because the sun had not come into being yet. The darkness of this time was the source of the first dark magic, the ancient dark magic, which formed your kind, the very first beings on this planet.”  
Exchanging a look with his guardian, he saw, that the man as well had still many questions in his eyes. After a moment Albus asked another question: “Is there a difference between these two types of dark magic?”

 

The shadow nodded again. “The ancient Dark Magic is an whole different power. It works completely different, more by will than by spell, even though you can preform dark magic with it. It is also much stronger, because it's origin lays at the beginning of time, where no light existed. That is why you can not preform any light spell with your magic.”

 

“I can preform no light spells anymore?” Harry exclaimed, shocked. How should he ever continue with his education? Or get a job later? No one would hire him if the only spells he could do were those Voldemort and his croneys used.  
“That is where you simply will have to simply will what you want into being,” The shadow explained patently.  
Feeling slightly more at ease, Harry nodded, before asking: “So, is there more that I need to know about this magic?” 

“No. Other than this differences, the two types of dark magic are very similar.”  
“But, can't I do something against this magic? I don't want to become an dark wizard!” Harry huffed and crossed his arms. He really didn't want to become like Malfoy, or even worse; like Voldemort.  
The shadow tilted his head curiously to the side. “What is so wrong about Dark wizards?”   
Giving the shadow an irritated look, he simply retorted: “They are evil. I don't want to become evil.”   
“No magic is good or bad. Magic simply is,” now, the shadow seemed to frown at him. “It were the humans who decided that Dark Magic is evil, because dark Magic is more powerful and they feared these power and those who could wheel more powerful spells. But in truth both kinds of magic are neutral.  
Somehow, Harry couldn't believe the shadow. He had just seen too many proof of the contrary, Like Malfoy, or Mcnair. “And why are there so many crazy, evil Death Eaters?”  
“Because the wizard do not understand their own magic anymore. Dark Magic can work like a poison to someones mind, if he or she casts dark spells which are too powerful for their core,” the shadow answered nonchalantly.

 

“Still not really satisfied with the answers, Harry asked another question: “And why are only Dark Wizards following the Dark Lord?”   
“Oh, there aren't,” the shadow sounded as if he was smirking. “Many light spells can kill as well, but there are more Dark Wizards following him, because they feel mistreated by the current Government.”

Harry fell silent. He knew that the shadow was true, at least one light wizard who was following Lord Voldemort he knew as well; Peter Pettigrew. But what would make a light wizard follow Voldemort? Hunger for Power? We,,, he would trie to find the answer to this question later, but before that he needed to find a sellution for his personal problems.  
That he would be able to still do all kind of spells (even though in a completely different way) would be well and good, if it weren't for the many Dark-Magic-Detection_Spells nearly everywhere in their world. He would still get problems if he used his new magic to conjure a simple glass of water. This meant, he somehow needed to suppress his magic, or his life would get even more complicated. The Prophet would probably call him Slytherin's heir once more, like it had done two years ago and this time, he would have no chance to argue against it. Or even worse; they would find out about his creature-status (because he would not even be able to preform a glamour) and call him a monster. That couldn't happen.   
Gulping Harry asked: “Is there a way to suppress my new magic? I mean, it is very obvious and dangerous for me.”   
The shadow sighed heavily. “You can try it, although, I have to warn you. Not many are able to suppress their magic, because you need to suppress your whole nature for it. It will be like constructing another person inside of you, split your soul temporarily and your subconscious mind will most likely be too afraid to let that happen. And even if you succeed, it will make you miserable with time.”

 

Knowing that he would have no other choice, if he didn't want to be hunted down by Voldemort and the Ministry, he said: “Than this is a price I will have to pay.”  
“Harry,” Albus said gravely, a look of deep sorrow on his face. But Albus did not say more about the matter. 

 

“Yes, Master. Call me and I will show you how to suppress your nature,” the shadow bowed.  
Changing the topic, Harry tried to find out more about this mate-father thing. He needed to know more about this person to be able to find his mate, especially if it was right that he would not life very much longer without her. Really, this title mate-father was absurd. He pitied the poor girl who would be called like this from his shadows.   
“I still have no clue who my mate is, or why I even need a mate. Why does I need one? What kind of creature am I?”  
The shadow looked suddenly much more unwilling to answer again. “You should already be by your mate- father's side. Only your mate- fathers's magic can sustain you.”  
“Why? And why did you call him my mate-father?” Harry asked insistingly, getting desperate with the topic, but the shadow only disappeared back into the wall and vanished.

 

Sighing again, he turned back to Albus: “Did we learn something new?”   
“Not much,” Albus retorted. “Apparently hiding your inheritance will be much more complicated than I originally thought.”  
“When I have found my... mate or whatever it is I have to look for... what will happen then?” he asked, looking out of the window again.  
“You probably will have to mate with her or him, or start a courting process. I believe, you will somehow join your magical core with the person,” Albus answered musingly.

 

Gulping, Harry tried to keep his hands from shaking. He felt not ready to mate already. He was still so young. He was not interested in dating and this kind of things. He could not even imagine kissing another girl. And than suddenly it really sunk in what Albus had just said. “Her or him?” He asked, his voice higher than normal.

 

“Yes, Harry, her or him. Creatures search on other basics for their mates. Some need a powerful mate, or one who's magic is compatible to their own. The gender is not the most relevant aspect in the end.”

 

His head started to swirl at Albus words. A man? He could possibly end up with a man? He had nothing against gay people, but he never had even thought about being together with a boy instead of a girl. Could he even imagine kissing a man? He wasn't sure. How could he know as long as he could not imagine kissing a girl either?  
A warm hand fell on his shoulders and he looked up into blue eyes.  
“Harry, I know it is much right now. Try to take it one step at a time. There is no other way than dealing with it all.” Albus squeezed his shoulder shortly as he nodded in understanding, before the man rose to his feat. “I will go and search for Minerva now. You have not much time to learn her spell if you want to join classes tomorrow again.”

 

Harry wasn't sure if he really wanted to join the others so early already, but he didn't want to raise questions either. He watched Albus turn around, but in the last moment his twinkling, blue eyes fell on his untouched breakfast. “Are you not hungry, my boy?”  
“It smells wrong,” Harry answered truthfully.   
Albus frowned. “Is there something else you would like?”  
He couldn't really answer, because he didn't know what it was he wanted to eat, or more precise; needed to eat.  
“You surely will find out soon,” Albus said calmly, turning once more, but stopped a second time. “I think you have nothing against sending a letter to Padfoot?”   
He opened his mouth to agree, but before he could say anything, his guardian had already disappeared as if he never had been their.

 

Frowning down at the food, he put it on his night stand. His eyes fell on his wand and the golden egg, which someone must have placed there. Having nothing better to do, he picked the egg up and opened it, maybe he would be able to solve the riddle. But what came out off the egg was not a piece of parchment, or a spoken rhyme, but a loud, earsplitting screech, unlike anything he had heard before.   
Startled he dropped the egg to cover his ears, only to realize that he could not cover all four of them wit only two hands. His cat ears were hurting and ringing by now and he hurriedly leaned forwards to close the blasted thing once more. The silence that followed was blissful, only his new set of ears was still slightly ringing.

 

“By Merlin! Mr. Potter, what was that sound?” Madame Pomfrey exclaimed and then came out of her office. Grinning sheepishly, he pointed at the golden egg. “Its a riddle I have to solve for the second task,” he explained.   
“Well, than do that somewhere els. I do not like these kind of riot in my Hospital wing,” Madame Pomfrey retorted sternly, waving her wand over his body. “You seem much better this morning, Mr. Potter. I think, as soon as the issue with your appearance is solved, you will be able to leave. Are you still hurting?”  
Shaking his head, he quickly said: “No, I feel fine now.” That was of course not totally true, but he at least felt much better than after he had woken up.

 

“If you need something, just call,” Madame Pomfrey said and left him alone once more.   
Picking up the egg, he placed it back on his nightstand, before laying back down and closing his eyes again. He could very well get some more rest as long as McGonagall had not arrived yet.

…

 

He couldn't have said how long he had slept, when his Head of House's voice woke him again.  
“Mr. Potter. I would like to teach you the transfiguration now. Mr. Potter, are you awake?”   
opening his bicolored eyes, Harry blinked up at McGonagall, who eyed him with a strange look on her stern face. She took a step back and he sat up, wile rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

“Maybe you would like to change into something more appropriate? I will go to the room for contagious patients and wait there,” she said with a look at his hospital pajama, before turning on the spot and walking bruskly away.  
Sighing, he searched for his clothes, but all he could find was the very fitting, but scandalous outfit the shadows had probably spelled onto his body in the night of Halloween. He was sure that McGonagall would never call the pants, the waistcoat or the high boots appropriate, but seeing no alternative he quickly changed into the black tight-fitting and scandalously transparent black pants, the excuse for a waistcoat and the high boots, wondering if this was supposed to be some kind of uniform. He would asked the shadow later. 

 

Thinking of it, why did he always speak to that one, when he had seen at least twenty on Friday? That was another question he wanted the answer to. Taking his wand, he left the space around his bed and looked around for the room his Professor had mentioned. A door was standing open across the room to his right and he quickly made his way over. As he entered McGonagall stood with her back towards him, but turned around as soon as she heard him approach. Her eyebrows flew up, before lowering again and forming one straight line.

 

“Mr. Potter...” she started, but he quickly interrupted her. “The shadows gave me this outfit. I think it is some kind of uniform and I don't know where my school uniform has gotten.”  
“As long as you do not show up in this uniform in my class, you can leave it on for now,” McGonagall said, pressing her lips tightly together.   
“I have some spare pairs in my trunk,” he reassured her smiling up at her and her face instantly softened. It was strange to look up to his Professor again. With his glamours, he had not done this, because the spell had mirrored his actions and portraied it on a taller version of himself. But now everybody could see how small he truly was. A childish laugh threatened to bubble up in his throat but he quickly squashed it down, he didn't want to scare his head of house even more. She probably had already gotten a shock when she first had seen him earlier.

 

“Your father,” she said and he quickly concentrated back on her, “informed me about your change in magic. I think it best if we start with some simple spells and charms to examine what you can still do without problems. Albus also warded this room, so that we might check your ability with a dark curs.”

 

Harry gulped, he had not expected to be checked so thoroughly and the thought of casting a dark curse scared him. What if the magic would change him after all? Or what if he cast a spell which was too strong? He did not want to be poisoned by it.  
“Do not worry, Master,” the oldest shadow suddenly sounded in his head. Looking up, he saw a pair of gleaming, red eyes looking at him from a shadow that was cast by a cupboard. “I told you that it is your set of mind which make you good or evil, not your magic. Beside, you are a dark creature, you could never be harmed by dark magic. You are the highest of them all. Only your mate-father will be a match for you.”

 

Nodding to the shadow and McGonagall, he said: “Than let's get it over with.”  
“Very well. Albus warned me, that you would have to suppress your nature before you will be able to preform any light spell, but I would ask you to try it once regardless. The Alohomora, please,” she ordered, closing and locking the door behind him with a flick of her wand.

 

He pulled his wand from his hip pocket, pointed it at the door as well and said clearly: “Alohomora!” Nothing happened. He tried the spell a second time, but he could feel that his magic didn't even reacted.  
Sighing, he turned back to McGonagall. “I think I will have to ask the shadow after all.” He had not completely finished the sentence, when the small boy stepped from his hiding place and next to him.  
“Master,” he said with a bow, before starting to explain right away. “As I told you, it is more about changing your nature. You will have to start with hiding all inhuman features of yours, before you even will get a chance on suppressing the darkness of your core. But be warned: Often the body rejects this last step. It's a natural fear of loosing your own identity.”

 

“Just try it, Mr. Potter. We can think about what to do if you are not able to suppress your new magic, if it turns out to be actually the case,” McGonagall said, motioning for him to start. 

 

“Close your eyes,” the shadow advised. “And now concentrate on pulling all features you wish to hide inside of your body.”  
Nodding, Harry did as told and closed his eyes. He started with his wings, they were the only new part of him he had at least moved already. So he repeated the motion and when he felt the feathers fitting themselves neatly to his back, he continued to try and pull them closer to his back. In the next moment a strange sensation went through his body and he could literally feel how his wings disappeared inside of him, now laying folded beneath his skin and not on top of it.

 

The next part was much harder: He had to get a feeling for the rest of his new appendages. Deciding to continue his body, he tried to feel it like he had felt is wings. It was not as easy, because the tail was only attached at a single, small spot with him and actually grew from a bone which had always belonged to him; his tailbone. He only got a feeling for it, when he suddenly slammed with his tail against something and McGonagall gave a startling noise. Without apologizing, he hold on to the sudden sensation of the new limp and than concentrated to pull him inwards as well. It felt as if the tail was coiling around his hip, like a soft belt and as he opened his eyes, he saw that it had disappeared as well. 

 

“Have I hurt you, Professor?” he asked, looking up to McGonagall.  
“It's fine, Potter. Just continue,” she said with a small smile and he closed his eyes again. Now where he knew how it worked, he got relatively quickly rid of his cat ears, horns and fangs. With his blackened skin he had more difficulties, because he actually could feel no difference to the way his arms, hands and feet had been before. But with the shadows help and much patience he succeeded there as well and finally stood like a normal child in front of his head of house.

 

McGonagall's eyes were strangely glistening, bud he didn't had to asked what was wrong, because she said with a sniff: “When you first came to Hogwarts, I thought you were so small for your age, but seeing you now...” she broke of, shaking her head, before taking a deep intake of air and saying: “Let's continue.”

 

“What do I have to do now?” He asked the shadow, who sighed and than said: “Imagine yourself in your normal form and imagine your new magic connected to this form. Than Imagine your human form standing next to it and try to remember how your old magic felt. It will never be as light as it once was, but with a bit of luck you should manage a neutral magic from its signature. Have you ever meditated before?” 

 

Harry shook his head, but it seemed not to disturb the shadow, because he merely said: “Mind magic comes fortunately naturally to your kind. But you should probably sit down somewhere.”

McGonagall conjured a plushy, red armchair and he quickly sat down, pulled his legs up and crossed them, before closing his eyes once more. He had never meditated before, but he believed that calming himself down was an important part of it, so he tried to breath deep and evenly. 

 

In the beginning nothing happened, but then his heart rate slowed down, he started to see black, shimmering lines in front of him.   
“What you see now is your magic, try to look for your core,” the shadow's voice said in his head, as if knowing what he was just seeing.   
Looking around, his eyes fell on something to his left that looked like a human heart. But it was not red like a heart should be, neither was it black like his magic, instead it was from a white, radiant light. In it's center pulsed, black and alive like the shadows, his magic and he finally understood what the shadow had meant by telling him that his magic would not make him evil. To see such a brilliant light inside of him calmed his fears more than everything else until now had done.   
“With your kind, heart and core are the same,” the shadow explained. “That is, why your heart is your only vulnerable point.”   
He had the feeling that this sentence held more significance than he realized right now, but decided to not asked about it now. Now he needed to fin a way to suppress his magic. 

 

A top of him he saw a dimmer, more silvery light and somehow he felt pulled towards it, so he gave into the feeling and in the next moment he stood in a room that looked like his dorm room, only that stacks of books, trunks, pictures and many items were placed on every free surface.

 

“This is your mind. You should get some order into your head at some point,” the shadow snickered. “But as one of your kind, your mind is automatically protected by your magic. Be glad or you would be easy pray for every occlumance.” 

 

Harry had no idea what a occlumance was, but it really didn't interest him right now, when he didn't need to fear them regardless.  
“Now concentrate on the images I have described earlier,” the shadow instructed further.  
To his surprise an image with his new body appeared as soon as he thought about it, he even could feel some of his new magic coming from it. To make his old body appear was not as easy. To his shock he realized, that he already didn't know anymore how his former body and magic had felt. Or more precise; He still new it but couldn't understand it anymore.

 

Deciding to concentrate on his old appearance first, he managed to create at least an image of his former self and was startled at the differences. He had of course noticed that he looked different now, but not how much. It were not only the new creature-features, his facial structure had more changed than he first had realized. He could still see himself in this new face, he was clearly there in his bright, green eyes and wide grin and messy hair, but everything else was so different. It was as if he was seeing a more elegant, almost aristocratic version of himself. His eyes once more settled on those high cheekbones and straight nose. They still looked so familiar to him, but he was not more able to say where he had seen them than one and a half day before. 

 

Than his eyes wandered down and stopped at a black string of magic, which connected his two bodies.  
“As I have feared,” the shadow said with a silent sigh.  
“What's wrong?” he asked, having the feeling that he already knew the answer; His new magic flowed strongly threw both of his images, that didn't boat well. 

 

“You will not be able to suppress your magic, you have accpted what you are already too much.”   
“But I haven't even tried!” He protested.  
“No need,” the shadow retorted. “You will not be able to, but there is another method. But first you have to leave your mind again. Just open your eyes.”

 

He opened his eyes and found himself back in the hospital room.  
“Well?” McGonagall asked.  
Shaking his head, he told her: “The shadow said, I will not be able to suppress my magic. It is too strongly connected with me. I think I have accepted it too much already.” He let his head hang, not sure, if he should be happy that he was so much in sync with his magic or not. Normally it would be a reason for joy, but he needed to hide.  
“And now, Mr. Potter?” His head of house inquired, but it was the shadow who answered:

 

“Now we will practice to mace your magic untraceable, that should be efficient enough to not alert any nosy people from the Ministry.”  
“Untraceable? But that is not possible,” McGonagall said, making the shadow huff.  
“For him it is possible. He is not human, don't forget that, woman.”  
McGonagall looked offended for a moment, but than seemed to decided that it wasn't worth the argument and gave a curt nod.

 

Harry watched the short exchanged and waited patiently until his servant turned back to him.  
“If you want to accomplish something you normally used a light spell for, you simply have to will your magic to create what you want.”  
“Well, I would suggested you try too open the door again,” McGonagall suggested and stepped out of the way.

 

Standing up again, he pointed his wand once more at the door, but this time he concentrated on the image of the door unlocking and opening and in the next moment the door gave a silent clicking sound and swung to the outside.  
“That was easy!” He exclaimed with a wide grin.  
“Yes, it seemed so, Mr. Potter. But if you preform this spell outside of this ward, you will alert the aurors in no time,” McGonagall told him, wile rubbing her her reddened arms, which looked as if she had gotten a sunburn.  
Harry looked guiltily at her, but McGonagall did not give him time to apologize and instead simply closed the door again, before throwing a requesting look at the shadow.  
“The next step will be, to imagine your magic being shapeless, colorless, without a scent and completely silent whilst simultaneously concentrating on your goal. With time it will become a second nature to you, but for now it will need a lot of concentration.” 

 

Harry soon learned how right the shadow was. The next two and a half hour he practice to make his magic practically invisible. It took him almost one hour to get it right for the first time and the other one hour and a half he needed to make his new ability flawless.   
McGonagall stayed the whole time with him, the only difference was, that she sat down in the conjured armchair after a while.   
When she finally told him to stop, he still needed to concentrate on both parts of a spell, but didn't feared to slip up in his classes tomorrow.

 

“Now, we will quickly check your level of skill with the dark arts,” McGonagall instructed him. She had risen to her feed again and was once again looking down on him.   
“And how?” He asked, still feeling nervous at the thought. All dark spells he had ever heard about were very harmful and he didn't want to try any of them on his Professor.  
“You will try to cast the Imperius- curse on me, but I will have to insist that you do not more than to make me sit down in the armchair again, before ending the spell,” McGonagall told him.

 

Well, that sounded at least not so bad like many other curses, at least, if he didn't let her jump out of the window or something equally dangerous.   
“I promise,” he said, lifting his wand and concentrating on bringing McGonagall under his control before saying: “Imperio!” 

 

McGonagall's eyes grew dull and lifeless immediately and her body relaxed the tiniest bit.   
“Go over to the red armchair and sit down,” he commanded, concentrating on enforcing his will upon her. The spell and the single steps to accomplish it came easy and naturally to him, like an instinct, it was almost frightening. But only almost, because his magic sung in pleasure for being finally used for what it was meant to do. He watched in fascination how Professor McGonagall went slowly over to the chair and sat down without a moment of hesitation. Somehow he had expected that the powerful witch would at least fight a little against his spell, but she did nothing.

 

As soon as she was sitting, he ended the spell.  
McGonagall gasped as she awoke from the trance and her hands flew to her heart.  
“Oh by Merlin, Potter! I... I never... have felt an Imperio as powerful as this one. And I have my fair share of experience!” She breathed and closed her eyes for a moment, visibly needing the time to collect herself again.

 

Seeing how pail she had grown, Harry the guilt rising in his chest once more, even so she had suggested this exercise. Her chest heaved as she took calming intakes of air, but when she opened her eyes again, they were luckily as stern as always.  
“At least I think we will not need long to teach you the transfiguration spell. It's incarnation is corpus parere and it is in fact a dark spell., because it is based on bloodmagic.”

 

“But won't it be illegal if I preform this spell?” Harry asked skeptically.  
McGonagall huffed. “All the spells you are capable of doing are illegal. Or at least that is what the Ministry will say if they ever catch trace of your magical signature. But this spell is actually not prohibited, because it uses only your own blood and magic and it is impossible to preform it on another person.”   
The shadow snorted but Harry ignored it, so did his head of house.  
“You will find it quite similar to glamours, the only difference is, that it will actually change your body structure and not only build an image of another appearance. It can grow, shrink and change you in every possible way. At least in some boundaries. You will always look like yourself in some way, it is no Poly Juice. But it has the advantage of being untraceable once it is cast, at least as long as the others do not notice the changes on you, so I would advice to go with your glamoured form. That is also the reason, why Albus has asked me to teach you the spell. Glamours can dissolve if someone is not concentrated enough or in a position, where he has no control over his magic, for example if you would fall unconscious. Luckily, that has not happened until know, but with Umbridge at Hogwarts, it is better to be save than sorry.”

 

“Ok... Professor. So I just have to concentrate on how I want to look like?” he asked to be sure.  
“Yes. And when you have a clear picture in front of your inner eye say corpus parere and tip your chest with your wand. You should probably always change into your human form first. The spell will probably not be able to hide your other... features.” she instructed him.

 

Slowly Harry got the feeling that he would not be able to concentrate much longer. They were practicing for hours already and even so he knew, that it was important that he learned these things, he also started to feel very exhausted. An hungry, but he still didn't know what he wanted to eat. 

 

Closing his eyes for what felt the hundreds time this day, he quickly entered the chaotic room of his mind, where he quickly formed another image of himself, one which still not looked like the Harry from one and a half day ago, but at least had no demon features and also didn't look like a child anymore. He checked his image once more and made a few more changes until his face had lost much of his newly gained nobility and his hair was brown once more. His friends still would see a difference, but all the other students would probably just wonder if he looked somehow different or not, like people tent to do when someone suddenly had a slightly different hair cut.   
Satisfied, he then proceeded to slowly hide his wings, tale, horns and all the other inhuman body parts of his. It still was an odd feeling, but he hopefully would get used to it soon. He then concentrated on hiding his signature carefully, before turning to his new image again and saying loudly: “Corpus parere!”   
Pain suddenly shot threw every bone and muscle of his body. It was no bad pain, more like the pains he had sometimes gotten as a small child when he was growing, but it still felt uncomfortable. Opening his eyes, he watched in fascination as his arms and legs stretched and he could feel his shoulders broadening, while his facial features shifted a little as well. 

 

McGonagall quickly changed his much smaller black outfit into a huger Gryffindor school uniform, before it could start to rip.   
“Very good, Potter,” she said when he had finally stopped growing.  
“Thank you, Professor,” he smiled at her, feeling odd to be this tall. Even with his glamours he had never been really tall, after all, it had only be an illusion.   
“I would suggest we end our lesson here. You look as if you could need some rest and I myself certainly as well,” McGonagall said with one of her rare and hard earned smiles.

 

They left the warded room together and McGonagall said her good-byes before leaving him once again alone, at least he thought so, until he saw the huge, white basilisk lounging on his bed.  
“Hallo Master, are you feeling better again?”   
“Yes, I do.” he answered and flopped down next to her. Zaida moved a bit, before placing her heavy head in his lap, obviously wanting to be patted. Granting her wish, he started to softly stroke up and down her smooth scales.  
“I did not know, that you had an inheritance,” she hissed, sounding the tiniest bit accusingly.  
“Well, I didn't know either. Not before it started at least,” he told her.  
Zaida eyed him for a moment, before saying: “I am glad. You are more powerful now and your new magic is more comfortable for me... not so light.” She wrinkled her nose at the last word, as if it had personally offended her.  
“So, did I missed something whilst I was sleeping?” he asked her, not believing that she could tell him much.  
“I often heard the others saying your name,” she told him, revering to his fellow students, at least he believed so. “I think they wondered where you have been. And once I saw your picture on that piece of paper.”  
“Piece of paper?” he asked, not fathoming what she meant.  
“Yes, it was moving and something was written beneath it. But it was not our language.”

 

Harry groaned, that sounded like the Prophet. He could only imagine what kind of horrible article Skeeter had written after his performance with Zaida in the first task.  
“Shall we go back to the tower?” He asked, already grabbing his golden egg and only now did he noticed, that he could not find his glasses and on his nose they weren't either. Grinning happily, he only shrugged inwardly. He had never liked this horrible round thing, but it had been the only pair his relatives had been willing to give him.

 

Zaida answered him then, reminding him of their conversation: “Only if I don't have to shrink again. It makes my whole skin itch.”  
“You can stay as huge as you like,” he smiled at her. “Now everybody knows about you regardless, so you don't have to hide any longer.”  
Zaida made an appreciating sound and slithered lazily from his bed. 

 

Exciting the little enclosure around his bed, he shouted: “Madame Pomfrey, I am leaving now!”  
“Very well, Mr. Potter. And stay out of trouble, I don't want to see you in here this year again!” she answered from her office.   
Chuckling, Harry promised: “I will try my best!”

 

Zaida followed him to the doors of the Hospital Wing and they left. It was a strange feeling to leave the security of Madame Pomfrey's ward. He had only been there fore one and a half day, but he felt so different, even with his transformed body. Fore one thing he had never walked the corridors being so tall as he was now, for another he felt stupidly giddy for some reason, like a hyperactive child. Maybe his inheritance had enhanced this aspect of his as well? He probably would find it out soon enough, given the right situations. The only thing that dampened his good mood a bit was the thing with his so called mate-father. 

 

He still had no clue what that should mean, or what he would need him or her for, or why he should die without his mate, or father, or what ever. But he decided to not think about it now. Right now he only wanted to get back to his friends and than lie down early, the practice with McGonagall had really tired him out, but than again, he probably had not fully recovered from his inheritance yet. 

 

They quickly were past the security of the first floor and once on the staircase students started to whisper and point at him. Even without his cat ears he could clearly here what they were talking:  
“There he is. Do you think he was injured after all?”  
“No, he wasn't I am sure of it!”  
“But why was he gone than?”

Another group of students were talking about his ability to speak parseltongue:  
“I can not believe he is evil, but why did he can speak with snakes? It's an Slytherin thing, isn't it?”  
“He has to be not so good as we always thought, I think...”

 

Just before he climbed up the last staircase, he came across a group of girls, and what they were whispering was even more absurd:

“Oh the poor boy...” one of them sighed.  
“Such a great sacrifice, and that only for us,” her friend agreed, giving him a long, sympathetic look.

 

He quickly went past them, not wanting to hear what other nonsense they would come up with. Passing the groups of students, he inwardly started to sneer. So weak... pathetic, he thought disdainfully and than stopped mid step. So weak? Pathetic? Where had these thoughts come from? But going past another student, he clearly could feel the boys magic, his power level and that it was light. Frowning, he quickened his step, wanting to tell Hermione from his new ability, but while he climbed up the many steps, he grew aware of dozens and dozens of signatures, some closer, some further away and it started to get irritating. Zaida was still following him, but he didn't even realize that the students respectfully went out of his way as they saw him approaching with his familiar in toe.

 

Only wen he had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady did he came to an halt and tried to calm himself down. Surely he could stop this sensitivity? His magic must be doing something, that was the only possible explanation he could think about?

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked, but he ignored her and closed his eyes, concentrating on the space where he had first seen his new magic. It luckily appeared immediately, but instead of leading straight to his heart and mind, it seemed to spread outwards. Concentrating on his skin, he could feel his new magic, untraceable but still powerful as it was, seeping out from his skin, crackling around him and reaching out like many searching hands. 

 

With all his willpower he pulled his magic back and locked it up inside his body once more, but he didn't really succeed. The sensation disappeared, but some magic was still leaving him and he had the feeling it was searching for something, or someone. Sighing, he decided to ignore it for the time being as long as it was not giving him a headache anymore and opened his eyes again.   
“This is your birth power,” A voice said and suddenly the shadow stood once again next to him. Totally exhausted, he simply nodded and finally turned to the Fat Lady. The shadow disappeared again as he said: “Lion Cup.”

 

The portrait whole swung open and he climbed inside and hold it open until Zaida had pulled her long body through as well.   
“Harry, You are back!” came a shout from the other end of the common room and as he looked for the sound he saw Hermione waving and smiling at him.  
Closing the portrait whole first, he went over to his two friends who sat in front of the roaring fireplace. Zaida followed him and curled up on the carped in front of it, warming her scales.

 

“You look... great mate,” Ron grinned at him, clearly wanting an explanation for his changed look.  
“Yeah, McGonagall taught me a nice, little spell,” he grinned back and Ron nodded.  
“So, you could leave already?” Hermione said, closing the heavy book she had been reading before his arrival.  
“Yeah. I practice with McGonanagall for hours...” Stopping his tale, he pulled out his wand, concentrated and in the next moment they were save behind a privacy barrier.  
His friends eyes widened in awe.   
“You can do wordless magic?” Ron asked, clearly baffled.  
“Not directly. But my magic works differently,” he told them.  
“How?” Hermione asked curiously.  
“I can not do any light magic anymore, but I can... will the things I want to accomplish into existence...”  
“That is amazing!” Hermione exclaimed.  
“It is,” he agreed with a grin. “But also very complicated, because I have to hide my magical signature at the same time...”  
Ron nodded. “Your magic was kind of boiling on Friday, mate,” the redhead grinned.  
“That's the problem,” he grinned back.

 

“So, what else is new?” Hermione prompted impatiently.   
“When I was on my way to the tower...” he started, but than stopped when his eyes fell on a kissing pair in the corner opposite of him. The girl and boy had their limps tightly intertwined and they were practically devouring each other. He had never been interested in these things, but suddenly his magic spiked for a sort moment as he watched them, but than the thought too weak, entered his mind again.  
Shaking his head and pulling his eyes away from the scene, he wondered what by Merlins beard was wrong with him.

 

“Harry? What happened then? Harry... do you even hear me?”   
Hermione's annoyed voice finally reached his ears and he quickly turned back to his friends.  
“What... Oh... yes...I heard you... what was I just saying?”  
His friends gave him a confused look, but Ron said: “You wanted to tell us something that had happened on your way here.”  
“Ah, yes!” He exclaimed, grinning sheepishly and rubbing the back of his head. “Well, I was on my way to the tower, when I suddenly could feel the magical signature of the people around me...” 

 

Hermione's eyes widened again and she suddenly looked very excited. “You remember the name beneath your tattoo?” She asked him, and only waited barely until he had nodded in affirmation be fore continuing hastily. “Azrael... the Arabian people believe, that he is an angel, who wrote down the name of every new born child, and crossed it out once he or she had died.”  
“And that explains what...?” He asked in confusion, not seeing the point of these informations.  
“Can't you see it?” Hermione huffed.  
“No,” he said dryly, thinking that he would have said so if he could.  
“He must somehow have felt those people being born and dying;” she explained very patiently and finally he understood what she was getting at.  
“Their magical signatures!” He exclaimed.  
“Exactly... even muggles have some kind of signature, it's only very weak. Every living being needs some energy that sustains it and that is magic. Only the once with more magic than their body need become witches and wizards,” she nodded excitedly. 

 

“Hey wait...you lost me!” Ron complained. Turning to his redheaded friend, Harry explained: “What Mione means is that I probably have similar powers to this Angel, or whatever he actually was. I am very sensitive to the magic around me. That even make sense, because the shadow told me, that it is my birth power.”  
“So you think... you are an angel?” Ron asked disbelievingly.  
Shaking his head, he answered: “I believe, that this Azrael- guy was the same creature as I am, but I am sure we are no angels. My magic is dark, remember?”  
“And what are you? A devil? A... Soul Reaper? Or maybe an Angel of Death?” Ron asked.

 

Not knowing the answer, Harry looked over to their brainy friend, but she only shrugged.  
“Well, we will find out some day,” he sighed and leaned back in his armchair.

 

For a while silence fell around him, until he remembered what Zaida had told him about the photo she had seen.  
“So, what did Skeeter write after the tournament?”  
Ron and Hermione flinched.  
“Oh, I don't think you really want to know...” Hermione said carefully.  
“I rather know what rumors are flying around and be prepared than the other way around,” he told her.  
“With a sigh she accioed an old issue of the Prophet from a desk a bit to their left and handed it to him. 

 

On the front cover was a picture of him and Zaida leaving the clearing after they had successfully stolen the golden egg. He was clutching the egg to his chest and smiling down on his familiar in relieve. Above it stood the foreboding headline:

 

The dark curse of the Golden Boy (by Rita Skeeter) 

After the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named many witches and wizards were not only relieved by the end of the long war, but also happy that their young savior had survived the attack unharmed and without further damage.  
But this reporter has now the sad duty to inform the wizarding world that this is not true.  
Already in his second year at Hogwarts, rumors started that the Boy-Who-Lived possesses the ability to speak parseltongue, the language of the snakes. The two other most famous parselmouths were had been no other than Salazar Slytherin and the Dark Lord. Many of us were rightfully worried, but we all calmed down when the rumors quickly ended in Harry's third year, until yesterday, when our hero showed the audience that he indeed is in possession of this darkest of all gifts, by defeating a Hungarian Horntail with the help of a basilisk. This basilisk, so Harry, is his familiar and he was able to control it threw the use of the beasts own language.  
Despite all initial fear, the basilisk did not attack any of the watchers and killed not even the dragon as our young hero had promised. Now the question remains: Is Harry Potter, our savior, going dark? Will he become the next Dark Lord and overwhelm our world with a new era of terror?  
But this reporter knows better, because how could the child of Lily and James Potter ever become a Dark Lord? Everybody who knew the two knows that this is just not possible! Instead Harry's ability to talk with snakes is a dark curse, left behind by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after his attack. We all know that the Dark Lord's strong Killing-Curs rebounded on the only one year old boy and it is not surprising that it has some lingering effects.  
Now, our duty as wizards and witches will be to support our broken hero who is struggling with a dark mark that had been placed upon him against his will, at an age, where he could not yet defend himself.

 

Harry stared at the article for a moment, wondering where Skeeter got always this crazy ideas from. This was so absurd that he could not even be really annoyed. At least he now knew what the girls had meant by huge sacrifice.  
Noticing his friends were looking at him expectantly, he sighed, before saying: “I honestly don't know what to say about this. I mean... this is so crazy! Do the people not realize that she is always writing utter bullshit?”  
Ron snickered at his words. “You're right mate. That is even more insane than that shit about you and Mione dating.”  
“Yeah,” he grinned. “Now we have our Dark Lord back and scum like Skeeter is still living. He really could do our world a favor for once. I would even write him a Thank-You-Latter.”  
“Maybe you should first write him a letter and suggest it, he seems not to get the idea on his own,” Hermione said dryly, throwing the paper a filthy glare.  
“That's a good idea,” he mused. “I will just write:  
Dear Voldemort, please could you make a stop at Skeeters place on your way to your next raid? I would be forever thankful.  
Your nemesis,  
Harry Potter.   
P.S. Please kill Umbridge as well, when you are already at it.”

 

His friends looked at each other before bursting into laughter.  
“Oh I would like to see his face,” Hermione giggled. “Maybe the shock of getting a letter from you would even kill him,” she said hopefully.  
“I would certainly hope it does,” Harry grinned back.  
“But then you should let Skeeter alive,” Ron snorted. “I am sure she would jump at the chance to write an article with the headline Dark Lord killed by letter.”

 

Their joking came to an abrupt halt when Harry suddenly yawned.  
“You should go to bed, Harry,” Hermione said in an stern voice. “You have gone threw a lot this weekend.”  
Nodding, he stood up. He had already felt tired an hour ago after all. “I guess you will stay awake a bit longer?” He asked Ron.  
“Yeah,” his friend answered.  
He waved his two friends good night, before looking down at Zaida, but she seemed to enjoy the heat of the flames, so he simply walked up to his dormitory. 

 

Concentrating shortly, he transfigured his school robe into an set of night clothes with a careless wave of his wand. After he had climbed into his bed and sealed his curtains shot, he ended the spell which McGonagall had taught him and transformed back into his new form. A sigh of relieve escaped him when his wings unfolded and his tail uncurled. It had felt a bit like wearing too tight closes, or as if his skin had been too small for his body.

 

Relaxing into his pillow, he closed his eyes and asked:  
“Are you there?” Wanting to speak with his other friend. It had become a habit.  
“I am,” the answer came almost immediately, as if his friend had already been waiting for him.   
“So, what have you done today?” he asked him.  
This time he had to wait a bit longer for a reply, but when the man answered, his voice was smooth. “I was practicing Occlumancy.”  
Harry perked up. The shadow had mentioned Occlumancy as well. Hoping that his friend would be more ready to give him answers than his supposed servant, he asked:  
“What is Occlumancy? A friend mentioned it, but he didn't explain anything.”  
“Your friend probably did not want you you to know that he or she has to hide something,” his friend mused with a slight smirk in his deep, echoing voice.  
“Something to hide?” He asked.  
“Yes. Occlumancy is mind magic. It is used to protect secrets from others intrusion. The counterpart is called Legilimens. I myself am a good Ligilimense and I always thought to be a good Occlumance as well, but currently I have some problems.”

 

Thinking about this new informations a moment, Harry asked: “So with Legilimens you can read someone else's mind?”  
“Mind reading is a muggle term,” his friend huffed disdainfully and Harry once again remembered that he was dealing with a Slytherin. Sometimes he could almost forget the fact.  
“And what have you done after you had fortunately consumed a Pain-Potion?” the voice asked.   
“Oh... nothing much. I had some problems with a spell for Transfiguration, so I practiced nearly the whole day.”  
“With success?” his friend inquired.  
“Yeah, I get it now. Nearly perfectly as well,” he grinned.  
“How are your grates? Your magic is quite powerful, so I imagine you have not much problems at school.”  
“Er...” Harry stammered and blushed. Suddenly he was glad that his friend could not see him. “I... um... I don't learn much. DADA comes naturally to me...” he said, thinking that it had at least always done, but maybe that had changed now with his inheritance. Concentrating back on the conversation he continued: “...but I have a horrible teacher this year.”  
“Yes, I have heard rumors about her,” his friend said, sounding very displeased, but what he added next made his cheeks burn even more. “So you are lazy?”  
“Um... er... yeah, I guess,” he admitted sheepishly.   
“You should change that. It would be a waist if such talent gets waisted because you don't have the marks to get a good job after school.”  
“You know,” he retorted dryly. “You are not my father.”  
“Fortunately,” his friend answered, clearly smirking and Harry blushed again. Did his friend meant it like he thought he did?

 

Clearing his throat, he quickly changed the topic: “So, will you have a stressful day tomorrow?”  
“No, I have not much planned this week. I need to solve the problem with my Occlumancy skills, it is becoming frustrating.”  
“I know how that can be,” Harry sighed. “I really try my best at Potions. Last time I even brewed a correct one, but Snape just hates me and he simply vanished it, saying it was rubbish. But it wasn't. It had the correct color. And I was so happy that I was successful for once, because most of the time they come out wrong and I don't even know why...” he sighed in frustration.  
“I can offer you to help as good as I can through our link,” his friend offered.  
“Really? That would be great! I have potions tomorrow before lunch,” Harry answered happily.  
“Of course. I was always very good at potions.”  
“Yeah,” Harry snorted, “every Slytherin is good at Potions.   
The other man seemed to smirk again, but said nothing.  
“Than it's a deal? I will call you tomorrow,” he asked.  
“It's... a deal,” the voice confirmed.  
“Thank's. But I will go to bed now. I'm dead tired,” he yawned, already turning on his side.  
His friend chuckled. “Sleep well then, we will hear us tomorrow.”  
“You too,” Harry mumbled, just before he drifted off not even noticing anymore how his body started shivering as son as he came to rest.

 

…

 

The next morning Harry was awoken from the rumbling of his stomach. With a groan he opened his eyes, only to notice, that he was clutching his new tail like a teddy-bear and his wings were draped over him like a blanket. But amazingly enough, his neck was not hurting, even though he had slept the whole night on his left horn.

 

Sighing he sat up, closed his eyes and entered his mind, before concentrating on his human image. He could feel how his tail, wings, horns and cat ears retreated. Next he pulled his wand from under his pillow, concentrated again and then mumbled, “Corpus parere.” When he was sure he was looking like he was supposed to, he opened his curtains, grabbed his toiletries and left for the showers. 

 

His last shower had been on Thursday evening, due to his unfortunate stay in the Hospital Wing. That was one of the few advantages he had with his childish body: He barely was sweating at all. Still, three days was more than a stretch. 

 

His dorm mates were still fast asleep, so he had the showers for himself. He should probably wash his wings and tail some time soon as well, but not this morning. He would have to ask Albus if he could use his private bath once in a while, the risc of being found out in the boy's bath was too high. 

 

Stepping out of his pants and t-shirt, he stepped once again in front of the room-high mirror. Hermione had been right, his body was for the first time (as far as he could remember) free of scars. Wandering down with his eyes, he suddenly froze and his good mood fell a bit, when they landed on the blue word on his penis. The scar of the knife was not there anymore, but his body had apparently not been able to force out the ink. Averting his eyes, he reminded himself that he still looked far better than before and that magic could not do miracles, regardless what the muggles would believe if they ever would hear about the magical world. 

 

Deciding to let himself not be dragged down by this, he stepped into the shower and turned on the water. It felt oddly cold to his skin and he quickly turned it as hot as possible, thinking that it was a wonder with the new hotness of his magic. He had noticed it yesterday already, when Albus and Madame Pomfrey had nearly burned themselves at his skin.

 

Ten minutes later he stepped out of the stall and dried himself before dressing in a clear school uniform. He brushed his teeth and fetched his school bag, before Ron was even out of bed.   
Zaida was still in front of the fireplace when he came down, at least her body was, because her head laid on Hermione's lap, who patted her carefully while reading one of her books.  
“You know,” she greeted him. “It's a bit strange to pat a basilisk. I mean, I have touched her before, but never patted her and never without you near by.”  
Grinning, he flopped down in the armchair next to her, just when his stomach growled again.  
“Have you not eaten anything for dinner yesterday?” she asked a bit scoldingly.  
“I have not eaten since Friday,” he said truthfully.  
“Why? That is not healthy, Harry, you know that. And you are already thin enough.”  
Shrugging, he explained: “It smells so horrible. I think my new body needs a special diet or something, but I have no idea what it could be.”  
“Have you spoken with your father about it?” Hermione inquired with a deep frown.  
“Yeah. He says I will find out eventually,” he told her.  
His friend huffed in retort. “Boys, all the same, regardless how old they get.”  
“Albus is certainly no boy anymore,” he retorted dumbly, watching how Hermione continued to pat his familiar.  
“My mother always says: Girls grow into women and boys grow into bigger boys,” the witch said with a cheeky smirk.

 

“Right she is!” Came a voice from the stair case and as Harry looked up he saw Ron coming down, his tie still loosely hanging around his neck. “Why so early up, mate?” his friend asked.  
“He is hungry, but doesn't know what he can still eat. Apparently everything smells bad to him,” Hermione explained for him, carefully standing up to not startle Zaida.  
Ron frowned: “Does that mean you have not eaten since Friday?”  
“Yes,” he grumbled.  
“But... aren't you starving?” The redhead asked disbelievingly.  
“That is the problem,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“Let's just go down,” he interrupted her. “Maybe I will find something this morning.”  
Zaida came over to him when she noticed that he was leaving, clearly intend on following him.

 

Ron looked down on her and said: “I don't think that Binns will say anything and Umbridge probably will be to afraid, but Snape might cut her to pieces for potions ingredients if you take her to his class.”  
Considering Ron's words, he turned to his familiar and said: “When Snape, the black haired git who teaches Potions try to harm you, you can eat him,” he instructed her dryly.  
“It would be a pleasure,” Zaida said with a bow of her head and from somewhere above him came a suspicious, childish snicker.

 

“What did you tel her?” Hermione asked skeptically.  
Smirking, he answered: “I just gave her the permission to eat Snape if he tries anything.”  
Ron snorted but Hermione scowled disapprovingly.   
“You better take that order back, Harry,” she said pointedly.  
“No,” he retorted with a grin, childish pleasure running through his body at the thought of seeing Snape's frightened face. For a short moment he wondered if this feeling was his new magic working, or maybe his inheritance, but then he shrugged it off. It was nice to have no bad conscience for once. 

 

Turning to the portrait whole, he left for breakfast without looking if his friends were following him. He was so hungry by now, he needed to find something. Hurried steps told him that Ron and Hermione were indeed following and Zaida had never left his side in the first place. No one stopped them on their way down, but just when he stepped with his friends onto the first landing, he heard an commotion from down in the Entrance Hall and he forgot his gnawing hunger for the moment.   
“What the...?” Ron asked, but he didn't answer, as his eyes landed on Professor McGonagall.

 

She was standing directly in front of him and looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick.   
Trelawney was standing below, in the middle of the Entrance Hall, with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad.   
Next to him Zaida wrinkled her nose at the strong smell. Harry could understand her, because he smelled it as well. His new sense of smell was the only enhancement of his body which didn't leave him after changing into his human form. Focusing on his Proffecor again, he noticed that Trelawney's hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; and her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them up- side down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her and slowly he got an idea what was going on down there. 

 

With the Triwizarding Tournament they all had nearly forgotten Umbridge stupid inquisition, but apparently it had just caught up to them all and Trelawney was the first victim. His assumption was confirmed when the witch started to shout, staring at someone ho could not see from his spot, but she was apparently terrified:

 

“No!” she shrieked. “NO! This cannot be happening. . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!”   
“You didn’t realize this was coming?” said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused.

Moving slightly to his right, he finally saw that Trelawney’s terrifying vision was nothing other than Umbridge, like he had feared. 

“Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow’s weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?” Umbridge smiled sweetly, while her words were crueler anything Voldemort had ever thrown at him.  
“You c-can’t!” howled Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, “you c-can’t sack me! I’ve b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!”   
“It was your home,” said Umbridge, and Harry was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, “until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us.” 

 

Umbridge stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief.  
By now a huge crowed had gathered around the witches and not even the Slytherins were laughing, with the exception of Malfoy, that was. He could see Madame Maxime stood between her students, a look of utter hatred fixed on Umbridge. Moody stood there as well, his face carefully blank, but his eyes gleamed in attention as he watched the scene and a bit further to the man's right stood Snape and even he seemed revolted by what he was witnessing.

Hearing a sob to his left, he looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying silently, their arms around each other. But his focus was quickly drawn away from them, when McGonagall made an angry sound and marched down the last staircase, before directly stamping up to Trelawney. She started to pat her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes. 

Harry had never been prouder to be a Gryffindor than in this moment. Professor McGonagall was a lioness, regardless how strict and calm she usually seemed to be, but she was not the head of her house without a reason and it became clear right now.

 

“There, there, Sibyll . . . Calm down. . . . Blow your nose on this. . . . It’s not as bad as you think, now. . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts. . . .”   
“Oh really, Professor McGonagall?” said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. “And your authority for that statement is . . . ?” 

 

“That would be mine,” said a deep voice.   
The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as his guardian appeared in the entrance. What he had been doing out in the grounds Harry could not imagine, but there was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, McGonagall alongside her. 

 

“Yours, Professor Dumbledore?” said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. “I’m afraid you do not understand the position. I have here” — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — “an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.” 

 

To his very great surprise, Albus continued to smile. He looked down at Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, “You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid,” he went on, with a courteous little bow, “that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.” 

 

At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden.   
“No — no, I’ll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —”   
“No,” said Albus sharply. “It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll.”   
He turned to McGonagall.   
“Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?”   
“Of course,” said McGonagall. “Up you get, Sibyll. . . .”   
Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Trelawney’s other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. As they went past him, he gave his head of house a small smirk and her eyes seemed to flash for a split second, before the three witches were past him. 

Professor Flitwick went up to the trunks, pointed his wand at Trelwney's luggage, before he squeaked, “Locomotor trunks!” and Professor Trelawney’s trunks rose into the air, proceeding up the staircase after her with Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear. 

 

When Harry turned back to watch what Umbridge would do next, she was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.   
“And what,” she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, “are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?”   
“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” said Albus pleasantly. “You of course now, that one requirement of an headmaster is to have a a knowledge of all the classes his or her school is offering, so that, on case of a crisis such as these, he or she will be able to teach the students. And fortunately I already have quarters here and will not need Sybill's.”  
“But... you can't do that! I will not allow this!” Umbridge roared, her cheeks growing very pink. 

Smirking, Harry exchanged a look with his two friends, both of whom were smirking as well.   
“I bet she imagined a different outcome,” Ron snickered silently.  
“That blew up in her face,” he retorted maliciously.

“I will sack you as well!” Umbridge screeched in rage.  
“I will not hinder you to examine my teaching skills, Dolores. But do not think that you will have the backing of the Government,” Albus said looking very unimpressed, his blue eyes were even twinkling again.

Lifting an eyebrow, Harry leaned closer to Hermione: “Isn't Malfoy senior one of the Governors?”  
Nodding, Hermione mused: “That is strange. Why should he help Albus?”  
“Maybe he wants Umbridge loose on his beloved son even less than Albus Dumbledore as an Headmaster?” Ron suggested, but didn't sound convinced.  
Shrugging, Harry turned back to the conversation:

“I will speak with the Minister about this!” Umbridge hissed, before finally turning on her heels and starting to make her way over to the stair. Zaida slithered protectively in front of him as she stumped up the stairs. For a short moment his eyes met Umbridge's, but she quickly went on as she heard his familiar hissing threateningly. As soon as Umbridge was out of sighed a chorus of whispering arose.

 

McGonagall started to shoo the students off to breakfast, while Albus followed the crowed with a maraudish twinkle in his eyes.  
“Your father as Devination Professor? Can you imagine that?” Ron asked and he finally stopped watching.  
Thinking for a moment, Harry nodded: “Actually I can. Not like Trelawney with all this hocus- pocus, but more in an matter-of-fact kind of way. He will be more objective, I think,” he mused.   
“That definitively would be interesting for once, wouldn't it?” Ron asked.  
“It will,” he agreed, but couldn't say more about the topic, because Hermione choose this moment to remind him of his growing hunger:  
“We should go to breakfast as well. We have not much time left until class starts,” she said, starting to go ahead.  
Harry wanted to follow her, but as he sat a foot on the first step a sudden wave of dizziness overcame him and he swayed a bit. His sight went blurry for a moment and it was only due to Ron's quick reflexes that he didn't fall down the staircase.  
“Oi, mate, careful there!” Ron exclaimed, pulling him back on his cloak. Color swirled around him and his knees felt as if they would give in any moment, but suddenly it was over and his vision focused again. 

 

Hermione had come back up and was now looking with a mixture of concern and accusation at him. “You should really eat something soon, Harry,” she said.  
Huffing, he retorted: “I would have eaten already, if I knew what I can still eat. But as it was, everything I got until now was smelling so bad, it made me nearly sick.”  
“Let's just go and search for something,” Ron said quickly, before they could start a serious argument. His friend gave him a worried look then, before asking: “Can you stand alone?”  
Nodding, Harry grabbed the bannister and slowly went down the last staircase. 

 

It was still unusually loud in the Great Hall when they arrived. The excitement over the first task was still lingering and Umbridge had just added a new spring of rumors. When he came nearer to the Gryffindor table the twins greeted him with the words: “Our cursed boy has arrived!” They sat a bit further down, grinning wildly and Ginny was sitting across from them with Dean, but for once she was not even looking up.

Ron and Hermione had already sat down and Hermione was looking impatiently at him, so he quickly followed their example.  
“So, is there anything that looks delicious to you?” she asked, waving her right hand in a huge gesture over the table.  
With a sigh he turned to the dishes, but alone by the smell he could already say that there was nothing he would like to eat. The scent of eggs, sausages and muffins hung heavy in the air and it made him quite sick. Trying not to breath in too deeply, he shook his head.  
“Come on mate, you have to eat something, you are a growing boy, mum would say!” Ron said, pulling over a plate with brat rolls.   
“No, thank you Ron. Besides, I haven't grown in four or five years anymore, so that isn't an argument,” he retorted with his eyes carefully fixed on the empty plate before him and not one of the dishes.

“But Ron is right, you have to eat something, Harry,” Hermione reminded him as if he needed to be reminded.  
“I know, Mione, I know,” he snapped, the growing hunger making him cranky. With one fluid motion he stood up again, so quick that the stair toppled over behind him, grabbed his schoolbag and turned around. He could not stay in the Great Hall even longer. It smelled so bad and all the eating people only reminded him that he had not been able to eat anything in over two days.

The memory of the shadow telling him, “You must go to him, or you will die.” suddenly came back to him. Was that the reason why he could not eat anything? Did he need this other person to be able to eat? Only yesterday he would have laughed at the thought, but hearing his stomach rumbling again it seemed more and more likely.  
“Where are you going?” Hermione shouted after him as he left with Zaida in toe.  
“To History,” he called back without turning toward her. She shouted something else, but without his cat ears he was not able to hear it anymore, he was too far away already.

 

“Are you not hungry, Master?” Zaida asked as they left the hall again.  
“I am, but since my inheritance, it doesn't smell good anymore,” he told her.  
“Try a dear from the Forrest. They smell and taste good,” his familiar suggested.  
Getting slowly desperate, he nodded. “Maybe I will try it.”

 

In contrast to his house mates who apparently had already gotten used to Zaida, the students he met on his way up to Binns' classroom jumped once again out of his way with frightened looks on their faces.   
“Stupid humans, they should know that I will not eat them. When you were asleep I explored the castle. They have all seen me before. You lions were braver. They were only a little bit frightened at first, when I appeared in your den on Friday night without you. But the next evening they already ignored me when I slithered into your bed,” Zaida huffed in irritation.  
Finally stepping onto the right landing and turning right in the direction of his destination, he hissed back: “Many humans are stupid. You better get used to it, but we lions are known for our bravery.” 

 

Some Hufflepuffs were already there as he arrived, but they quickly made space for him and his familiar in the narrow corridor. Ignoring them, he leaned against the next wall. He felt so week and he was growing tired again as well.

 

“Why are you not feeling well, Master?” Zaida asked him suddenly with a calculating look on her snake-face.  
“The shadows... they say I need my mate or I will die,” he answered her.  
“The shadows? Do you mean your other familiars?” Zaida hissed back.  
Now it was his turn to frown: “Other familiars?”  
“Yes, they are bound to you like familiars. I can smell it. They also smell a lot like you,” the female basilisk explained.  
“Yes, I mean them,” he nodded.  
“And you can not smell or sense your mate? It is not near by?” Zaida asked.  
Sighing, he told her: “No, he or she must be too far away.”  
“But why are you still here then? You have to search for your mate,” Zaida scolded him.  
“There are so many wizards and witches and I don't even know if the person is British or not,” he explained, looking down the corridor. Only when he noticed that Zaida was staring at him with narrowed eyes did he look back.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked skeptically when she not stopped to star after a minute or so.  
“As your familiar I am sensitive to you. I try to find something out about your mate,” she hissed.  
“Ok... and did you find something?”  
“Yes,” Zaida nodded. “Your magic is searching for someone to connect to. That is probably why you feel so week. Your magic is slowly leaving you. And your life force as well...” she mused. “I think what you are hungry for is magic and life energy, not food. But your mate has to be strong, or it will die when you feet from him.”

 

“Feet from him?” Harry squeaked. “Am I a vampire?” The thought of having turned into some crazy vampire-beast was horrible. He didn't want to drink blood.  
“Of course not,” Zaida snorted. “If you were a vampire, you would have burned to ashes in the sunlight already. And you wouldn't need a mate. You could just eat some of your friends. Or this nasty toad-woman.”  
“So, what am I then?” he asked.  
“I do not know,” Zaida sight. She turned her head as if she had heard something and when Harry followed his line of sight he saw Ron and Hermione approaching, together with a group of other Gryffindors and some more Hufflepuffs.

 

“Zaida says that my magic and life force is leaving me, because it needs to connect to my mate...” he told them silently as they came to an halt next to him. Hermione's face grew even darker as it had already have been.  
“She also thinks that it is these powers I need to... eat,” he told them further.   
“Maybe Dumbledore knows what that means?” Ron asked with a shrug of his shoulders.   
Hermione nodded in agreement. “You should speak to him later.”  
“I know. But first I have to get threw the school day,” he retorted, just in time when his stomach rumbled again.   
“I still think that you need some real food as well, or your stomach would not be so upset,” Hermione told him with a look at his stomach, making him blush.   
The door to their classroom flew open in this moment and they entered silently. Already his classmates looked tired at the mere thought of having to sit threw Binns' class for two hours. He took his usual seat in the back row next to his friends, but didn't even pulled out a notebook like Hermione did. Ron was meanwhile pulling off his cloak and placing it on his desk like a pillow. 

 

The class started and it helped nothing to distract him from his hunger. His vision started to blur again, but only slightly and it disappeared after blinking his eyes a few times. After ten minutes he decided that he needed something to concentrate on and decided to call for his shadow, or shadows, he did not understand how they worked yet.  
“Shadows, are you here?” He called mentally.  
“We are, Master,” many voices answered at once, but the stayed invisible, hidden in some other shadows of the classroom.  
Musing over what he wanted to talk with them about, he decided to ask a question they might even be willing to answer. 

“I still don't understand why I am your master. What are you exactly? Are we from the same kind?”  
He had the feeling the shadows were exchanging looks, because they didn't answer directly. After a while, a voice he had never heard before, said: “We are not from the same kind, but we are from the magic that lives inside you.”   
Another voice continued the explanation, this one sounding more like a little girl than a boy: “The ancient dark magic was very potent at the beginning of time, when the sun had not yet been born. Your kind came into being from this magic when especially high amounts met each other, that is why we became real, physical beings. But we are not this strong. In the beginning we were born when lesser amounts of ancient dark magic collided, but as the magic became rarer, only your kind was able to collect enough of it to create us and we became your servants.”

 

Harry frowned, this sounded all very mysterious. “So, you are in fact floating magic, that has joined into a corporal form?”  
“You have joined us into a corporal form,” another voice corrected.  
“But you said there is not even enough of this old magic to create one of your kind, how could I have been born?” He asked them, thinking that this all made no sense.   
The first voice spoke again: “We told you, that your kind became real beings. Your kind can be born like every other creature on this earth, but in your case we created you for your mate-father.”

“So, James Potter...” he started, but stopped when they snorted.  
“James Potter was only a very, very, very small part of it and Lily Potter was an even smaller part of your birth,” they explained, bud didn't say more about it.  
Deciding that he shouldn't stretch his luck with his disobedient servants, Harry decided to ask a different question. He had learned a lot of new informations just now after all. “Does this mean that the ancient dark magic is dying out?”

The voice of the oldest boy answered this time: “Not anymore, you anchor it in this world. You guaranty our life.”

 

The conversation ended and Harry thought about what he had heard for the rest of Binns' lesson.   
Somehow, his mum, dad and these shadows had been involved with his creation. That alone sounded wrong. But the more important question was: Did Lily and James knew about the shadow's doing? The shadows themselves had told him they needed a master to get a body, and that without him their source, this ancient dark magic, would slowly disappear completely. So it was very likely, that they just had messed around with him, because he was suitable for their power.  
But how? Lily and James had been light, how could he as their son be suitable for this kind of magic that was darker than anything else.  
Something he was missing here and he was sure it had something to do with his mate-father. But the word alone confused him so much. Mate and father just didn't fit together. That would be incest and incest was wrong and dangerous, every small kid knew that. It was more likely that mate-father was a symbolic title. Maybe his mate was supposed to care for him like a father? Still, this sounded like the most logical theory.

Harry groaned inwardly. That would mean he would really end up with a male mate. Otherwise it would be his mate-mother, wouldn't it?   
This topic was driving him crazy and his vision started to blur again. Luckily the bell rang in this moment and the class ended.   
He watched Hermione getting up and shaking Ron awake. She had long ago given up to keep Ron awake, because in contrast to him, the redhead didn't wake up from the poking of a quill.

“Is it over?” Ron asked and yawned.  
“Yes,” he grinned, trying not to let his friends see how bad he felt, but their looks told him that he was not succeeding. “Let's go to Umbridge,” he said quickly, before one of them could say anything. It wouldn't help regardless. He needed his mate, he could feel it, this hunger and yearning was getting worse with the minute and he grew restless again, as if an invisible power tried to pull him out of the castle, so that he could search for his destined mate. But he did not give in too this feeling. It would be ridiculous and with Voldemort back it would also be very dangerous. 

 

They left their History of Magic classroom and went down to DADA. Umbridge was already there when they arrived, sitting falsely smiling behind her desk. Her expression faltered a bit at the sight of Zaida, who hissed disdainfully and slithered purposefully closely past her, before curling up around his desk and stool as if building a protective wall around him.

 

“Good morning, class,” Umbridge greeted finally when all students had finally sat down.  
“Good morning, Professor Umbridge,” they retorted, loud but not very enthusiastically. Luckily Umbridge didn't expect enthusiasm, she probably even preferred the opposite, this way, they would at least become no good duelists.   
“Please open your books on page 64 and continue with chapter eight. There will be no need for speaking,” she ordered like always and sat back down.

 

Pulling the boring textbook from his bag, Harry opened it on the correct page and started reading. About five minutes later the reading became an impossible task, when his dizziness started again and his restlessness alternated took turns with his vision blurring for seconds on end.   
He stopped reading completely and instead tried to concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply and not quickly and shallowly, but even that was an hard task. For a short moment he thought about contacting his other friend to ask him, if he might have an idea what he could do to find his mate, he was really getting weaker and weaker in an rapid speed, but he quickly dismissed the idea; he would not be able to concentrate enough.

Turning a page to hide that he was not reading, he noticed that his hands had started to shake also.  
“Harry,” Hermione whispered suddenly and with great effort he looked up. “Do you want to go to Madame Pomfrey?”   
He only managed to shake his head, feeling too worn out to even speak all of the sudden.  
Hermione opened her mouth again, but Umbridges voice cut her off. “Ms. Granger, there-is-no-need-for-speaking. Do I have to take points from Gryffindor? Your house is already last.”  
Hermione bit her bottom lip but shook her head and returned to chapter eight.

 

Ron threw him a worried look as well, but he looked back down on his book and struggled the next hour to not fall asleep.   
Finally Umbridge instructed them: “Please read chapter nine until our next lesson and I want a 2 feet long summary. You are dismissed.”

 

Harry stood up on shaky legs and tried to find his balance, but his head had started to spin again.   
“Master?” Zaida asked, looking worriedly up to him.  
“It's fine. I only have to get threw potions and afterwards we will go to my adoptive father and search for my mate,” he tried to sooth her.  
“Your adoptive father? The powerful light one with the white beard?” Zaida asked.  
“Yes, Albus Dumbledore,” he confirmed.  
“I think you should go to him now,” his familiar said.  
Harry shook his head. Snape would have his head if he just skipped class and he didn't need more trouble.   
Zaida glared at him and huffed in motherly concern. “If you get any worse I will personally pull you to your adoptive father,” she promised in a threatening voice.  
Thinking that he probably would collapse and not be able to resist her then, he nodded once more.

 

When he finally felt as if he would survive the march down to the dungeons, he let go of his tabletop, grabbed his bag and followed his friends who had patiently waited for him while he had talked with his familiar.   
Ron and Hermione continued to give him concerned looks and he couldn't even say anything, because he knew he was going slower than normally and probably was swaying ever so often. So it was no surprise when they just arrived a second before the bell announced the beginning of their last double lesson. 

 

Snape came out from his private office and as soon as he was in sight a voice sneered from behind them: “Professor, I believe familiars are not allowed in classes.”   
Harry was not in any condition to defend himself, the strong cent of previously brewed potions and ingredients adding to his indisposition, but Ron hissed over his shoulder: “Oh shut up Malfoy!”  
“Ten points from Gryffindor for your foul language, Mr. Weasley!” Snape snapped, but instead of ducking more points from Harry as well for bringing Zaida along, he only eyed her thoroughly.  
“Can I eat him now?” Zaida asked hopefully, her tongue tasting the air.  
Shaking his head, he continued to watch Snape, who still looked calculatingly at Zaida. Something like recognition flickered shortly in those black eyes and finally the man looked up, turned to Malfoy and said calmly: “Feel free to remove this snake from our classroom Mr. Malfoy. I would certainly be most gracious.”

 

Now Harry had to gather all his remaining strength and throw a look at Malfoy. The blond boy had gone even paler than he already was and a gray tint had appeared around his nose as if he was sick for fear at the thought of trying to pull his basilisk out of their Potions classroom.

“If you are not willing to assist me, Mr. Malfoy, I think we should start,” Snape said and tapped the blackboard with his wand. “Now, as I already have announced a few weeks ago, we will finally start with our new topic of Healing Poisons, which we had to put off because of the visit of our most beloved High Inquisitor.”  
Snape curled his lip in a show of disdain he had not even shown Harry so far and Harry would have smirked at Snape, if he had felt any better.

 

“Some of you will already know,” Snape continued his lecture, “that many poisons can healer take away pain in a small enough dose, while in contrast many medical herbs can also kill when given too much of them to a patient. We will start with a Healing Potion that is based on one of the most deathly poisons; the Draught of the Black Widow. Get started.”

“We will get you the ingredients,” Hermione said to him and stood up.  
Nodding thankfully, Harry pulled out his shrunken cauldron from his back and enlarged it with much difficulties. His weakened state and the new way how he had to cast the spell almost being to much for him right now. Only the fear of what Snape might say made him succeed at the fourth try.

 

His friends came back and placed the ingredients in front of him, together with a knife and a slat. Giving them a weak smile, he pulled the slat and the knife close to him and looked at the blackboard for the preparation of the first ingredient, before starting to cut the dried salamander into slices. His hands were so shaky that the peaces ended up uneven, but he simply continued with grinding the owl's eggshells. His vision blurred again, but he luckily didn't need to see very well to grind the eggshells into powder. 

 

It took him over twenty minutes to prepare the last ingredient (the legs of the black widow, which had to be chopped), far longer than he was supposed to need, but this potion would turn out bad regardless, so it didn't matter if he would actually be able to brew it completely or not.

 

“Potter!” Snape suddenly snapped to his left. “I hope you do not plan on putting these ingredients into the potion like this.”   
“No, sir,” he simply answered, earning a doubtful glare from his Professor, but Snape wasn't known for concerning himself with him, so the man luckily turned on his heels and left again to snap at Neville next.

With one last glance at Snape, Harry stood up to fill his cauldron with water, but as soon as he moved his heart started to race painfully. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm his heart down, but it only changed into an irregular rhythm. Coughing, he grabbed the table top in front of him, his chest hurt as if someone was piercing him with a thousand knifes as his heart stumbled and the muscles in his legs clenched painfully under the effort of keeping him up right.

“Potter!” Snape snapped again, but his voice seemed to come from very far away.  
“Potter, what are you doing?” echoed his Professors voice.  
He couldn't answer, because his vision grew even blurrier and an elephant seemed to sit down on his chest. He struggled, desperately to not loose conscious, because the sudden fear of never waking again had grabbed him. He should have searched for his mate, for his life-source, that was the last thought in his mind before everything went black around him and he knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. All rights belong to J. K. Rowling.

 

AN: This really was by far the most complicated chapter so far! It was hard to describe Voldemort's motives, because I do not want an OOC Voldemort who is suddenly all sappy. But at the same time, he was not allowed to be so purely could-hearted as in the books, because otherwise Harry would have simply died n this chapter. I hope I succeeded.   
I also have done some CHANGES!!! I described Harry's magic as cold and Voldemort as warm, but really, Voldemort Is the cold snake bastard and Harry the hot Gryffindor demon. So now Voldemort is freezing and Harry is burning ;-) I changed these things in the chapters 7-9 as well.

 

And now I wish you fun with chapter 9 :-)

 

 

9\. Saving a son:

Albus slumped down on a stiff, wooden chair next to Harry. He was exhausted. Three hours had he, together with Madame Pomfrey and Severus Snape needed to stabilize his son. Within three days Harry's health had decreased to life-threatening levels. 

He looked down onto the still figure and his familiar, who had not left her young Master's side since their arrival. She had watched from a safe distance while they had worked on Harry, but now she laid protectively curled around his thin frame.

 

When his son had collapsed in Severus' class his heart had been stumbling un-rhythmically, his breathing had been shallow and his body temperature far too low, especially, when they took into account how hot he had been the last few days. Even his body looked already more haggard than usual. 

Even his spells had partially crumbled and the boy now laying in front of him was not Harry Potter, the 14 years old teenager, but the changed version with silky, black hair and an inhuman beauty. Fortunately he had not turned completely in his 9 years old self. Frowning, Albus traced once again the high, aristocratic cheekbones, the small, straight nose and the small, slightly pointy chin. Where had he seen similar features before? He was sure Harry reminded him of someone, but whom? Shaking his head, he decided to look into his pensive if he could not find the answer until this evening. 

 

At least, his son's creature features were still hidden, it was probably only due to the fact that this was a natural ability of Harry and not a spell. Unfortunately, the parts that had collapsed had done so in the Potions Classroom. He would have to give the students an explanation, but what kind? Maybe an half-truth? Yes, that would work. He would tell the student body that Harry had come into an early magical inheritance, but leave out what creature he had inherited. The students would make his own story up, it always was like this at Hogwarts. The first few rumors were probably already fly around and regardless of what he would tell the, they would not believe him, regardless. So, that was settled.

 

“Professor?” Asked a timid voice behind him and he faced the speaker with any twinkle in his eyes.  
“Yes, Ms. Granger?”  
Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger had been forbidden to enter the Hospital Wing while they had been working on Harry. They had needed space to move and react quickly. They had found out that the source for his sons weakness was his new magic which was rapidly leaving him and in the end only a very strong, dark magical field from Severus had been able to stop the process, but neither of them had been able to replenish the already lost magic, they were all incompatible. If they would not be able to find a solution soon, they would have to give Harry the Draught of Living Death in hope to buy some more time.

 

“Professor?” Mr. Weasley's voice pulled him out from his dark thoughts and he noticed, that he had not been listening.  
“I am very sorry, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger. Is there something I can help you with?”  
The two shook their heads.  
“Harry told us, that he had talked to his familiar,” Ms. Granger said with a long, sad look at his sleeping son.

 

Her words instantly made Albus sit up a bit straighter and he asked: “Could she tell him anything?”  
“Not really, she only said, that Harry's magic and life force is leaving him and that she thinks, he needs to somehow consume these powers...” the young witch said.

 

Magic and life force... what else had the shadows told them? His son apparently belonged to a species, that had once roamed the earth before any other life had been created, a creature of ancient dark magic, and his mate was called mate-father. Magic and life force as a substitute for food, somehow that concept rang a bell in his mind, but he could not put his finger on it. Where had he heard about it? It probably had been a very long time ago, given his age.

 

“Professor, does that help you somehow?” Mr. Weasley's voice interrupted his train of thoughts and he looked up.  
“I...” he began but just in this moment the door to the Hospital wing opened and turning around, he saw a huge, black dog running over to them, barely coming to an halt in front of Harry's bed and transforming into Sirius Black. He was closely followed by a stern looking Minerva McGonagall, who had obviously tried and failed to stop the wanted man from openly running through the school, even if it was disguised as a dog.

 

Quickly, Albus pulled his wand out and sealed the Hospital doors shot, before ignoring his Deputy Headmistress for the moment and greeting:  
“Hallo Sirius. Good to see you.”  
He had already wondered when the animagus would arrive. He had send him a long letter yesterday, informing the Marauder about Harry's inheritance; the glamour's his son had used to hide his true age, and the foreboding words of those shadows. Sirius was not a man who would leave his godson alone in such an hard time. 

 

“Albus, what happened? Is Harry...?” The man swallowed and looked down onto the boy, before kneeling down and pulling a wrapped package out of one of his many coat pockets. A hand came up to comb through Harry's hair and Sirius mumbled: “He looks so different...”  
“He does,” Albus nodded silently. He wished he would be able to explain why Harry's appearance had changed so drastically, there was not very much of the Potters visible in his ward anymore, but he did not know the answers either. Maybe Harry would look more like himself again, if he opened his eyes and let his bright personality shine through those emerald orbs, he honestly hoped so.

He focused back on Sirius, who was absentmindedly turning the present in his hands.   
“I had wished you could open it yourself,” the marauder said and then proceeded to unwrap the present for his sleeping godson and pulled out a plush-lion. Carefully Sirius placed the lion next to his godson, before turning back around and asking: “Is his condition already so bad?”

 

“I fear his condition is not very good at the moment,” Albus told him truthfully and glanced over to Minerva, who had stepped closer to the bed as well. She gasped silently and pressed a hand against her mouth as she saw her favourite student lying pale and breathing shallowly under the thick covers of his hospital bed which seemed to nearly drown him.

 

“You only gave me hints in you latter... what exactly happened to him? He looks... so different,” Sirius inquired, pulling him out of his examination.  
“He does, the Corpus parere Minerva had taught him disintegrated partially when he collapsed,” he told his former student.  
“The corpus, parere? But that is complicated magic! It is even a dark spell!!” Sirius gasped.  
“It is a dark spell, but one of the more... grayish once. It is neither illegal, nor does it harm one's soul,” McGonagall defended her action, her lips pursed.  
“It's fine, Minerva, no one is accusing you, if anybody has to be accused, it would be me,” Albus calmed the agitated witch down. He knew she was always worrying as much about Harry as he himself and it was not easy to see this young, but already strong boy suddenly so close to death.

 

Sirius sight, letting the topic fortunately drop, before asking: “So he really has turned into a dark creature?”

 

“Yes, and without finding his mate, or rather mate-father...” Albus didn't finish his sentence, because he suddenly had an idea, where he could have possibly read about Harry's kind. With one swift fluid motion he was at his feet.   
“I have to check something. Please stay by Harry,” he said to the four Gryffindors.  
“Do you know who Harry's mate-father is?” Mr. Weasley asked excitedly.  
Shaking his head, he explained: “No, but I may have an idea, what kind of creature he is and that will hopefully help us find his mate.” 

 

Without sparing a moment to see hope lighting up in Sirius', Minerva's, Ms. Granger's and Mr. Weasley's eyes he turned around, walked over to Madame Pomfrey's fireplace and flooed into his office. 

 

He had been right with his feeling earlier, he had once read about a creature, Harry might have turned into. It had been indeed a very long time ago, to be precise in the year 401. No wonder that he had not been able to help his dying son; if his theory was right, than Harry was the complete opposite of him, because he, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a spiritual being, one of those creatures, the muggles would probably call an angel, even though, of course, he was not send by any god, he was a being as any other, only with a never ending lifespan as long as no tragedy would occur. His magic was thus, from the purest kind, but back when he just had been born to a forma Vestalin-priestess, there had been rumors about a being which was rumored to be even older than his own kind.

 

Flicking his wand, he accioed the documents he needed. Their scribed was already very faded, even with the many preservation spells he had put on them, but preserving over a time span of more than 1600 years was more than a stretch for even the most powerful magic. He had not looked at this scroll for a very long time.

Unrolling the scrolls carefully, he sat down behind his desk and searched for the right paragraph, before starting to read:

...my Bishop recently approached me with great concern. “The fight against the devil is already hard enough for the weak human soul, we do not need more temptations,” he told me and I instantly knew, which temptation he meant, but in contrast to the muggle-bishop, I knew that our problem was even bigger.

For decades now we are fighting against the evil temptation of those demons, we call Incubi and Succubi, but as a wizard I know, that they are not the only kind out there and by far not the most dangerous ones. While Incubi are only craving the innocent souls of young women, and Succubi only those of men, these third demon kind has not specialized on it's pray. Their young appearances is another aspect, that make them so dangerous, because which kindhearted citizen would suspect a demon hiding in the form of a small child? They mockingly call themselves the Libris*. Such an innocent name for such evil creatures.

 

Outwardly they do radiate the purest innocence, but their goal is the same as for any other demon; To devour the soul of pure, innocent people.   
Unfortunately the fight against these demons is turning out hopelessly. Regardless of our spells, regardless, if a wizard is using light magic or rather those, which is only used by the more devious of us, the demons seem to be immune against them...

 

Laying the scrolls back down, Albus furrowed his brows together. He once had fought against a demon himself and it had ended with him fleeing, but it had not been a child-demon, like the priest described, it had been a woman, an Succubus. What had she said to him back then? Just before he had turned and run?

“You and your young magic will never be able to harm me!” 

Yes, that she had said. Back than, young and naive as he still had been, he had felt insulted, but now it finally made sense to him and now he finally knew, what his son was; A Libris, a child demon, one of those creatures, who had populated the earth when no other creature had been able to live, because the light had not been born at the time and the only magic had been the ancient dark magic. 

 

And Harry was dying, because those demons needed magic and life force to live, like humans needed water and bread. But in contrast to what the priest had written, neither Incubi, nor Succubi, nor Libris ate souls. They ate magic and life force without killing them normally, but eating was hardly the right word to describe it. They consumed through sex, because sex was also one of the oldest and most powerful kinds of magic; One could even call it live magic.

 

Especially during the act of a wizard and a witch, or two wizards, magic and life force were flowing in high amounts, because the energy was needed to create a healthy child. Demons used this circumstance to take in this magic for their own purpose. 

 

But this all didn't explain, why Harry was dying. Why did his son had a mate? Why did he not seduce a student? There were more than enough victims theoretically... Unless...  
Another realization hit him. Harry was a very powerful wizard, with an unusual great magical core. Any wizard or witch he would feed from would probably die and not satisfy him, so he would need someone especially powerful and probably someone, who's magic complimented his own in at least a certain degree, that was why Harry had also not approached him, regardless of his own strong magic; It was simply too light for his son's taste.

A dooming, cold feeling suddenly grabbed his heart and squeezed it painfully. A foreboding thought had entered his mind and he closed his eyes. He had an idea who Harry's mate might be, but every cell, every part of his being repelled the idea. No, this couldn't be happening to his son. Not to the small, innocent boy who had already gone through so many hells in the 14 years he was living.

 

But it was not an illogical conclusion...  
Coming to an decision, he rose to his feet again. Images of Umbridge torturing his students, of Fudge wanting to gain influence over the next generation of witches and wizards through that woman, flashed through his mind.   
Maybe, this would not turn out as bad as he had previously thought. Maybe fait had a plan once more and regardless of what the outcome would bee, he would not sacrifice his young son for a war he and every other witch and wizard was already tired off. He would not let Harry die. And maybe it would even prevent Harry from having to fight, or at least give him a strong companion, even though the war would probably not end because of this and even though, Harry would have to join his live with the most coldhearted man a child had ever grown into. 

 

Tom had long left the path of humanity and sanity and sending his only son away to such a man hurt Albus more than anything had ever hurt in his long live. His son would not have an easy live, but he would live and maybe, Harry would once again be able to do the impossible... maybe.

 

But first he had to make sure his assumption was right. And afterwards he would need to talk to Harry, because his son would surely not happily except his mate, because if he was right, than Harry would need to mate to Tom Marvolo Riddle, the man who had killed his parents, that surely was no great motivation for continuing living. Hopefully, he would still be able to convince him... he did not want to loose his son.

 

Rising to his feet again, he flooed back into the Hospital Wing. Sirius was laying as Padfoot next to Harry, warming him together with Zaida. Minerva, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger sat next to them on three chairs, they all looked forlorn, but their heads rose as soon as they heard his approaching steps.

 

“Professor, do you could find out, what Harry is?” Ms. Granger asked, clutching Mr. Weasley's hand and Sirius turned back into his human form.

Opening his mouth to answer, he halted when the door to the Hospital Wing opened once again and Severus came back inside with a deep frown edged into his forehead.  
Not many people knew it, but Severus Snape was deep down in his heart a very caring person who did not like to see people suffer, especially children, so it didn't surprize him that the man had showed up to check on Harry again.

“Ah, Severus, not a minute too late. I just was about to tell everybody what kind of creature Harry is.”  
“So you have found out, Albus?” Severus asked and conjured a chair opposite of him.  
“I believe so,” he nodded, his eyes wandering back to his comatose son.  
“Please Albus,” Minerva prompted him. “This is not the right time for your secrets.”  
“You are right, Minerva,” Albus apologized, before looking back down on Harry.  
“If I am correct with my assumptions, I do not only know now what Harry is, I also know what he needs and I even have an idea, who his mate could be. I am here to confirm my assumption.” His voice sounded grave even to his own ears, for once he could not put up false unconcern.  
“What kind of creature is he? Please, Albus, you have to tell me!” Sirius insisted and sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, stroking his hair softly, while the other three turned desperate eyes on him.

 

“I will tell your all I know, because Harry will need all of our support. I fear, that he might rather die than except his mate...” Albus sight.  
“Who is it, Albus?” Severus asked in a hard tone, but Albus only shook his head, conjured another chair and started to tell them what he had found out.

 

“It was the mention of Harry's ancient dark magic and what you told me, Ms. Granger, about what Zaida believes Harry has to consume, which shook up some very old memories in my mind,” he started. Harry's friend, Sirius, his Deputy and even Severus looked expectantly at him, so he decided to not beat around the bush like he always liked to do and continued:  
“Back when I was born, rumors about strong demons frightened the people of Rom. A few decades after I was born, in the year 401, I came into possession of a collection of old documents a priest had left behind after his death.”

 

“In the year 401?” Ms. Granger asked with a gasped.  
“Yes, indeed Ms. Granger;” he smiled softly.  
“But then you are...” Sirius said in disbelieve.  
“I am quite old and in fact, the opposite of Harry, that is why I could help him even less than our dear Severus when he fell ill this afternoon,” Albus sight, before continuing his explanations once more. “However, this priest wrote about a different kind of demon as well. Until then the people only knew about Incubi and Succubi (which the muggle do until this day), but witches and wizards also learned about a third kind; the Libris.”  
“Libris? Like children?” Minerva interrupted him with a furrow of her brows and he nodded.  
“Yes, I think we can say fairly certainly, that Harry is a Libris, a child demon,” he nodded.   
“It would at least explain what you have told me about his... young appearance,” Minerva mused.

 

A silent chuckle came from the wall and a pair of red eyes appeared. “You are very intelligent, old man,” the shadow standing there chuckled. It was the oldest one again.

 

“Um...” Sirius cleared his throat, ignoring the shadow, even though he had never seen the creature before, but there were probably other, more important things on the man's mind right now.  
“When you say he is a demon like an Incubi and a Succubi, does that mean he needs...” The animagus glanced over to Harry and than back to Albus, obviously not daring to say the words, but Ms. Granger had understood the implication and gasped.  
“Yes, your assumption is right, Sirius,” Albus nodded and watched as his son's godfather paled and Minerva slam her hands in front of her mouth once more.

 

“But he is... so young!” Sirius exclaimed agitatedly.  
Albus could only nod sadly. “Maybe Harry will be lucky and he will be able to start a courting process first, this way he would have more time to get used to the idea,” he mused. He certainly hoped so. Having to live with Tom Marvolo Riddle would be enough of a shock, even without having to share with him a bed from the very first night on.

 

“That will indeed be possible,” The shadow suddenly affirmed, stepping out from the wall. “He will have to place a mark on his mate-father, but after the courting bond has been initiated, he will have half a year to complete the mating.”  
“Oh thank Merlin!” Minerva breathed, pressing her right hand to her chest.  
A wave of relieve floated through Albus and he sighed simultaneously with Sirius and Hermione Granger, but Ronald Weasley looked still none the wiser. Well, he would leave the task of explaining to Ms. Granger, he had more pressing matters to concern himself with right now.

 

“So, who is his mate?” Mr. Weasley asked.  
Sighing, he tolled the small group: “Normally, demons do not need mates. They can mate of course and create offspring, but it is not a necessity, because they can feed from any human being.”  
“And why did Harry not eat yet?” Ms. Granger asked, blushing violently, while Mr. Weasley gave her a confused look again.  
“I guess, it is due to Harry's powerful magic. He will need an especially strong person to satisfy his hunger, or he would simply kill the wizard he feeds from.”  
“Correct,” the shadow chuckled.  
“Wizard?” Mr. Weasley asked without paying the shadow any attention as he grew even paler.  
“Yes, Mr. Weasley, wizards,” Albus sight. “If my recollection is not failing me, Libris are naturally submissive. Their pray normally are those men who have unethical desires.” 

 

“But why do you not feed him, if he needs a strong wizard? I mean I know that you are not one of those men, Professor, but wouldn't it not be better for Harry than... this!” Mr. Weasley asked with a huge gesture over to his sleeping friend. Minerva, Ms. Granger and Sirius were nearly choking on their own spittle and looked very flustered, but he simply answered calmly: 

 

“Because, my magic is far too light for a dark magical creature.”   
He saw Sirius' eyes widened in sudden realization.  
“Albus, do you mean, that his mate has to be a dark wizard. An especially strong dark wizard?” The marauder asked shock and fear evident in his voice.  
“Yes, that I assume,” he confirmed gravely.  
“Albus...?” Minerva asked weakly, she looked as if she was about to faint. Ms. Granger's and Mr. Weasley's eyes had also widened, but the two seemed to shocked to be able to say anything.

 

Heavy silence rang through the closed off Hospital Wing for a moment, until finally Mr. Weasley said: “You-Know-Who? You can't be serious, Professor!”

 

Shaking his head sadly, he rose again to his feet. “I do not wish this fait upon my son either, but I for my part believe in fait and I believe in the redemption of every soul. It will not be an easy path for Harry, that is why he will need all of us, without any doubt,” he said and his voice rang with the power he normally hid so well as he slowly began to unleash it.

 

To his relieve Harry's friends and his godfather instantly nodded, so did his head of house, even though they still looked slightly skeptical. Well, the concept of redemption for Tom was not easy to imagine, he admitted.  
“We will help him, no matter what,” Mr. Weasley assured, his voice shaky but determined. The teenager looked down on his sleeping friend, who was still only breathing weakly.  
“But what has this all to do with these strange title... mate- father?” Ms. Granger asked, her brows furrowed.  
“That I can still not answer,” Albus answered truthfully. He had not even a theory about it and even in connection with demons, he had never heard this title before. Suddenly Minerva grasped his arm strongly and in her eyes terror shone brightly.

 

“Albus...” she whispered, as if afraid to speak her thoughts out loud. “What if... what if we have to understand this title literally... like made and father...”  
His blue eyes widened in realization. Of course, why had he not realized this sooner?   
“But that would be incest!” Sirius sprung to his feet and protested loudly.  
Albus shook his head: “Not for a race, which had been created when there was no other life on this planet.”  
“What do you mean, Albus?” Minerva asked weakly.  
“Imagine there would be only twenty wizards on this earth, no muggles, no other half-human creatures, what would we need to do in order to survive?” He asked the little group in front of him.

 

“Professor,” Ms. Granger started. “Do you mean incest is... natural for them?”  
“Yes, I do believe so,” he nodded.  
“But...” Sirius said again, before breaking off.  
“Demons are considered a died-out species, there is not much known about them and when they were still larger in number, wizards were not able to study them thoroughly. So I am not surprised that we do not know everything about them,” he told Sirius.  
“But... he is Jame's and Lily's son! He looks so much like them!” the animagus exclaimed in despair.

 

Albus did not want to add even more to his former student's long list of pain, but he had to. They all needed to be clear about this or they would not be able to help Harry and Harry would need their unwavering support.  
“You have not yet seen him after his inheritance, there are other features on him now as well. James and Lily's are still there, but they are not the only one's anymore. Tom must have done something and it has somehow mate Harry his son as well, there is no other explanation right now. Maybe we will soon have a chance to talk to Tom and maybe he will be able to give us another, but for now I can not see any.”

 

Sirius gulped and turned to look at Harry. “You will always bee James' and Lily's son, regardless of what evil, dark ritual You-Know-Who did to you.”

 

“Stop, stop, stop,” Mr. Weasley suddenly exclaimed, interrupting the grave atmosphere. “Do I understand this correctly? You-Know-Who is not only my best mate's mate, but also his father?”

 

“In some way, he probably is,” Albus affirmed.  
Ronald Weasley paled even further and grasped his friends arm to steady himself. Hermione Granger had listen silently and Albus could see that she understood his logic, so did Minerva, but it, of course, didn't mean that the witches were any happier than the rest of them.

 

Deciding that they finally needed clarity, at least about the theory of Tom being his adoptive son's mate, he said:  
“Very well, than I will provide us with some certainty now.”   
He closed his eyes for a moment in concentration and concentrated on the flow of his magic. He had not done this in many years, but his wings reacted instantly and he heard several gasped as they appeared on his back, huge and white as always. His own change was not as significant as his son's. Spiritual beings had always been closer to humans than demons.

 

Opening his eyes again, Albus saw that the other four had stood up as well and taken a respectful step backwards. “I will try to find out who Harry's mate is for certain now,” he explained and drew his wand together with a small glass viol.   
Stepping next to his son, he pressed Harry's cold hand shortly, before tapping his son's throat and than the viol. The viol started to fill with blood, but in contrast to human blood, or his own, it was not red, but entirely black. Sirius gasped in the background, but he ignored it, concentrating on the spell.

 

When the viol was filled, he ended the spell, and pulled a feather from his wing. It hurt like only the cruciatus curse could hurt normally, but he bit his teeth together for the sake of his son. The use of his feather would give his spell much more strength, strength he would need.

 

Bending over the form of his son, he uncovered him and then vanished all his clothing with a spell, before slowly dripping the blood onto the motionless body in a straight line, starting on Harrys forehead and going down to his son's navel. The rest of the blood he poured over his feather, before placing it over Harry's heart.  
When he was finished with the preparation, he lifted his wand and started to incarnate a long incarnation under his breath. His son's familiar watched him attentively and slowly mist formed in a cloud over his body. 

 

Albus could feel the eyes of Harry's friend, godfather, Severus and even the shadow on him, but he continued to concentrate on his spell.  
Slowly the mist thickened until glowing, red letters formed in the middle of the cloud, forming the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.   
He closed his eyes for a moment. Even though he had suspected it, to see it affirmed was still an entirely different matter. Oh, how he wished an easier fait for his son.

 

Ending the spell, he vanished his feather and the blood and spelled a pajama onto his son, before turning around.  
The other's faces were all as grave as his own felt, but there was also determination; they all loved Harry in their own unique way and neither would give up on him.

 

“I will not let him go alone to that monster, Albus,” Sirius whispered, balling his hands into fists  
“Sirius, you will not be able to accompany him to his new life. Peter is there, and Tom Riddle will not spare you only because he will be mated to Harry.”  
“If the bastard even will help Harry,” Ronald Weasley growled.  
“Oh I am sure he will,” Albus retorted. “It is too great of an opportunity.”  
“Why?” Mr. Weasley asked with a scowl.  
“Because,” his friend explained matter-of-factly, “Mating with Harry will almost be like winning the war. Harry is the figure of hope for the light side and for the public it will be, as if we admit defeat.”

 

Ms. Granger really was an especially bright witch for her age, Albus mused.   
“But Harry will never see it this way. He will continue to fight!” Mr. Weasley said heatedly.  
“Harry will die if he defeats his mate,” Sirius growled, clearly upset.  
Nodding, Albus said: “Sirius is right. We can not say how Harry's life, or the future of our world will be, but Harry will never again fight against Tom Riddle. And for my part, I long since have the feeling, that the future will be entirely different from what Tom or I myself have ever imagined.”

 

“How do you mean that, Professor?” Hermione Granger asked, but was interrupted by Sirius.  
“Albus, I will NOT let him go alone. I can influence my form, you know that!”  
Albus eyes widened in shock. Sirius, as an heir to the Blacks, could indeed influence his animagus form, but only by using his strong, dark magic, which he had fought to suppress all his life. Using this power, it would finally make the man a dark wizard, maybe a borderline dark one like Severus Snape, but a dark one nonetheless.

 

“Don't look at me like this, Albus! You know you would do the same. The status of my magic is not worth letting Harry go alone into that bastard's snake den!” Sirius sneered at him and Albus nodded once. His former student was right; in this room, every single person would sacrifice him- or herself for Harry and they all would feel better knowing that the small raven would not go alone to meet his dangerous and lonely fait. It had always been his son's gift to evoke such strong emotions in people, even though Harry himself was not aware about it.  
“Then you will have my permission,” he said to the marauder, who smiled sadly, before closing his eyes.

 

Albus watched silently as Sirius finally freed his magic. Harry's friends were holding his breath, probably not understanding what Sirius was about to do, but feeling that it was something huge.   
It took Sirius much longer than it had taken himself to free his magic, because in contrast to himself, the man was not used to let go of his restrains. But the moment it happened was unmistakeable, The air around Sirius grew noticeably colder. The shining, blue eyes darkened, until they had the shade of a dark blue night sky.   
Sirius shivered involuntarily, but proceeded to transform into his animagus form without hesitation. First he grew into the big, black dog with the messy fur, but then he shrank until he was not more than a pup with oversized paws and huge ears.

 

The puppy turned back into Sirius, who looked more stern than Albus had ever seen him before. He of course new that the man was not only a troublemaking marauder and that he could be serious and professional, but Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger were looking at him with huge, disbelieving eyes.  
“Shall we speak with Harry then?” Sirius asked without commenting on the looks he received.  
“I think it will be best to not tell Harry more than that Tom is his mate. It will be hard enough to convince him as it is and he is very weak right now,” Minerva recommended.  
Nodding, Albus agreed: “There is no need to burden him with a theory we can not yet prove. And Tom will most likely know better what he has done and will be able to explain it more thoroughly.”

 

“But why did he never collect Harry until now?” Ms. Granger asked, asking a question he as well had silently pondered. They all exchanged looks, but no one could do more than shrug, not even he had a theory about this mystery. 

Conjuring another chair for Sirius, he motioned to Harry's friends to sit down as well, and than pointed his wand at his son, mumbling “enervate,” after he had sat down himself.

 

Harry awoke with a groan, but despite the strong reviving spell, he was barely strong enough to open his green eyes, which had grown dull and nearly lifeless. His son didn't seem to notice them, instead he fumbled a little as he obviously noticed the soft plush-lion next to his hand, grabbed it, picked it up and lifted it in front of his face. Never before had Albus seen such an expression of happiness on his son's face. Even though he was so weak, he smiled brightly, hugged the toy to his chest and a single tear of happiness rolled down his cheek.

 

Albus would have liked to let his son be happy for a moment longer, but he feared that Harry would not be able to stay awake for long, so he said softly:  
“Harry?”  
Harry turned his head and it was painful to see how much strength it cost him. A strong, but shaking hand grabbed his suddenly and Albus realized a bit surprised, that it was Sirius who was holding onto him.

 

Harry opened his mouth, but now word left his throat, so he quickly continued. Harry was getting weaker with every passing second, despite Severus' dark magical field, he could see it.  
“Harry, we have found out what creature you are and who your mate is,” he told his son.  
“Who is it?” Harry asked, barely audible and he sounded like a dying man, or rather a dying child.  
“You are a special kind of demon, like an Incubus or Succubus. Your kind is called Libris.”  
Recognition flickered in those green eyes, but Harry said nothing, so Albus simply explained further. “I preformed a spell to confirm your mate...” he hesitated a moment and on his son's face he could see, that Harry was bracing himself for the worst.  
“It is Tom, Harry.”

 

Harry gasped and the sudden shock gave him enough to suddenly sit up with a jolt. He was coughing violently. Zaida slithered protectively closer and looked up at his master with concern.  
“No! That can not be possible! It can not be true!” Harry exclaimed, horror clouding his eyes. “I will never... mate with him!” his son spat out.

 

“Harry, you will die if you do not accept the bond with Tom,” Albus said calmly, having expected this reaction.  
“Then I will die! He murdered my parents, he would kill all my friends at the first best chance, he will probably use me to kill you all!” Harry shook his head.  
“Harry, please,” Sirius said, leaning forwards. Harry, who had not noticed him until now, eyed him warily instead of with the usual joy.  
“Albus will find a way to protect your friends and I can protect myself, we will all find a way, but please, don't give yourself up.”

 

“No! Not even if I wouldn't have to... to...share a bed with him,” Harry said sternly, his breathing becoming even shallower, “I will never join him! Never! How can I put you in such danger? And what will the others think off me? They all will be disgusted.”  
“No, Harry,” Ms. Granger intervened. “We will not be disgusted. The public maybe, but the public always loved you only to hate you the next day.”  
Harry only shook his head, clutching the plush-lion tighter.  
“Yeah mate, we won't abandon you. And who knows, maybe you can even turn the bastard light! If someone could manage such a thing, it would be you,” Ronald Weasley added with a forced grin, repeating the thought he had mentioned earlier.

 

“No,” Harry said again with a stubborn set of his jaw. “He will only use me, use my powers.” Harry caught again, this time longer. When his son was able to breath again, Albus grabbed one of his cold hands and said as calmly as he could currently manage: “You do not have to show Tom your powers or your true form, as soon as you have gained some strength back, you can build your glamours up again, he will not be able to see through it.   
There are many creatures who look human, like elves for example and there are no pictures of demons anymore. And Your friend is right, maybe you will be able to find another solution for this approaching war.”

 

Harry wrenched his hand free. “No, Albus, even if all this...” Harry coughed again, “...all this is true, he has still killed my parents...” The coughing grew stronger and suddenly drops of blood appeared on Harry's blanket. An alarm went off somewhere in Madame Pomfrey's office and when Albus looked up, he saw blood trickling down his son's chin.  
Ms. Granger was gasping in shock, but she and Mr. Weasley, together with Sirius and Minerva were quickly shoved to the side by the frantic looking Matron.

 

“Albus, his heart is skipping...” she said, waving her wand. Harry's eyes had rolled backwards and he was cramping violently. “Quick, hold his mouth open. We need to put him to sleep. Now!”   
Albus knew that she didn't meant a simple sleeping potion, still, he grabbed his trashing, unconscious son, pulled him into his arms and then pried his mouth open. Madame Pomfrey quickly poured the potion into Harry's mouth and massaged his throat for a moment, making him swallow. Only a few seconds later the potion took effect and his son's breathing stopped completely alongside with his heartbeat as he drifted into the Sleep of Living Dead. 

 

Laying his son carefully back down and placing the plush-toy into his arms again, he breathed a long sigh of relieve, but his relieve was only short, because Madame Pomfrey rounded on him:

 

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, what did you do? Didn't I warn you? Every little bit of stress can be too much for his body in his current state!”  
“I know Poppy, I know,” he said emotionlessly, he felt utterly drained and even older than he was. “But I found his mate and had to talk with him.”  
Pomfrey gasped. “Who is it.”  
“It's Tom Riddle,” he said grimly.  
Poppy looked as if she would faint and had to steady herself on the nightstand. “Voldemort?” she breathed. “What are you going to do?”   
“I will have to contact him,” Albus said truthfully, turning around. “And I better do it quickly, or he will die before Voldemort can even arrive to collect his prize.”

 

“Albus, you can not mean it?” Poppy asked weakly.  
“But I do, Poppy. I will not let my son die,” he said and turned to face Harry's two best friends, he said: “I will go back to my office and search for a way to contact Voldemort. You two better go back to your common room for now. I do not know when he will arrive.”  
“Come, I will bring you two back to the common room,” Minerva ushered them quickly away.

 

Sirius transformed into a puppy again and Albus bend down to pick him up and placed him next to his son.  
“I will be back as soon as possible,” he said to Sirius and Poppy, before leaving once more for his office, but not before giving Severus a long look. The Potions Master gave a barely visible nod and Albus finally disappeared.

 

When he stepped out of the hearth, Fawkes eyed him with a sad and knowing look.  
Deciding that he would use the time until Severus would arrive, he asked the phoenix: “So, how do you contact a Dark Lord in hiding? Maybe a latter?”  
The majestic bird gave a trilling sound and he walked over to his desk, sat down and pulled out a piece of parchment, ink and quill from a drawer.

 

Writing the letter was not easy. How was someone to find the right words to address his former student who had turned into his biggest enemy? But after half an hour he finally laid his quill back down and rolled the parchment together, sealing it with the seal of Hogwarts.  
Now the only question left was how to deliver this letter to its recipient. Standing up with a sigh, Albus went over to his extended bookshelf. 

 

When someone was living as long as he did, he was bound to forget nearly as much spells as he learned over the years, not even an spirit's mind was perfect. He was just reaching for a big old tomb, then a beautiful, but slightly agitated trill sounded and as he spun on his heels, he only could watch as Fawkes scooped down on the letter, grabbed it and vanished in a flame.

Just in this moment Severus came in. The man raised his eyebrow questioningly, but he only shrugged. Fawkes would certainly be able to deliver the post, but to what price? 

“You wanted to speak to me?” Severus asked without commenting the incident any further.   
“Yes, my boy. I wanted to ask you, if you could search for an alternative plan to save Harry, just in case Tom might not agree to help us.”  
The other man snorted, before nodding and saying “Certainly.”  
“Do not make such an expression,” Albus said and looked pointedly at Severus wrinkled nose. “I know that you do not hate Harry as much as you make everybody believe.”  
He only earned a sneer for his words, before Severus turned on his heels and disappeared again.

Sighing Albus shook his head and pulled his wand from his robe pocket, he still needed to change the Hogwarts wards for the time being. Otherwise Tom would not be able to enter and save their son.

 

…

 

Voldemort was watching Nagini leading the other, much smaller magical snake into the throne room at her side. His basilisk had adopted her, maybe as a substitute for her lost daughter. He watched the two, not further acknowledging their present; He was in a foul mood. Once again he was unable to reach his prodigy and he had wanted to talk with him or her, to distract himself from the frustration that were his own mind. But it didn't respond and it's mind and magic was blank like a white canvas.   
These last days had all gone by like this; with many frustrations and disappointments. Looking down on his huge familiar, he realized that he needed to find new approaches to resolve all his current problems. 

 

He had also tried today to concentrate once again on his main goal (the destruction of the Ministry), but his thoughts always returned to those hidden memories. This feeling, that he had forgotten something very important was still growing stronger with every day and it had by now reached nearly unbearable dimensions, even his wish to ensure his immortality was paling in comparison to it.. But still, his mind stayed unyielding to him. 

 

His wards quivered suddenly and he looked up when he recognized the magic. A moment later someone knocked softly at the doors to his throne room.  
“Come in, Lucius,” he ordered and the man entered.  
Voldemort watched calmly as his loyal follower approached, kneeled down and greeted him with the words: “My Lord.”

 

“You can rise,” he allowed generously, and waited for the Malfoy patriarch to speak.  
“My Lord, I was just wondering, if you have a new order for me. Karkaroff, the traitor, is still out there...” Lucius broke off.  
Voldemort inwardly scowled, but of course, he let nothing show on his face. He had forgotten about this scum. Karkaroff needed to be taken care off, but not right now, not when he couldn't even concentrate.   
“Karkaroff is currently...” he started to say but in this moment his wards trembled violently, bending almost to the point of breaking and the aura of a powerful, light creature swapped over him, then a light, so bright that he and his follower had to shield their eyes exploded in the room. 

 

Voldemort tensed and stretched his magic out to block any attack, he would not be brought down by this, regardless of how surprising this attack was. When nothing happened, he slowly lowered his arm and his gleaming, red eyes instantly fell on a small pile of ashes with a sealed scroll on top of it. For a moment he frowned, but when the silent screech of a young bird came from the ashes and he extended his magic once again, he finally recognized the bird; It was Dumbledore's.

 

His first impulse was to vanish the bird alongside with the letter, but then he stopped himself. What could be important enough for the old coot to send his beloved phoenix for, knowing that Fawkes might pay dearly for his delivery? 

 

Glancing over at Lucius, he commanded: “You can go for now. I will contact you soon.”  
Lucius, the intelligent man he was, bowed deeply, before leaving without asking any question. This kind of undoubting loyalty had made him his right hand man during the last war and would surely bring him far once more in the future, but for now Voldemort had other concerns.

 

He lifted his wand and cast a row of dark revealing spells, but the scroll was not charmed. When he was satisfied, he summoned the scroll and sat back down in his throne, before braking the the old coot's seal and beginning to read.

 

Dear Tom,   
I trust that you will recognize the urgency a letter from me to you must have, why else should I contact the student I have fought against for so many decades? 

Voldemort was tempted once more to destroy the letter at the use of his unworthy given name, the name of his filthy, cowardly muggle father, but being a Slytherin, he was always searching for opportunities in every given situation and that was the reason, why he continued reading. Maybe this letter could give him an advantages in the war.

 

At midnight on All Hollows Eve, Harry Potter came into his inheritance. Now he is dying.

 

Voldemort smirked. This letter was turning this unpleasant day into the most fortunate one he have had in decades. Quickly he read on:

 

I would not notify you about this, but you are the only person who can save him.

 

Stopping again, Voldemort snorted. He would certainly not save the light sides little hero, when he would win this war more easily without Harry Potter in the picture, but still, he continued with the letter.

 

My son's corporal powers themselves helped me to determined you as his destined mate; they call you his mate-father.

 

A sound like breaking glass echoed through his head, accompanied by a head-splitting pain and in the next moment images started to flicker in front of his inner eye as this last word, mate-father, finally freed his memories and he fell into them like into a pensive:

 

The throne room looked the same as it did fifteen years later, but Voldemort could see by his appearance, that he was indeed watching a scene which must have taken place during his first reign. His eyes were already red, but his face and figure were more haggard by the over-excessive used of dark magic to prolong his live.  
He was sitting alone in his throne, clearly pondering one plan or another. It had to be late, because a pale moon shone through the windows to his left, when suddenly a voice spoke to him, or maybe it was not one voice, but many:

 

“Dark Lord, your path has lead you to power, but also to loneliness. You deny craving a family and a trustworthy person to turn to, someone who would warm you during the cold of night, but we can give you a partner for live. A soul mate, to take your loneliness away and to grand you even more power. Someone, who would never betray you.”

 

His younger self's head had snapped up the instant the voices had spoken and like his younger self, he was searching the room for the source of those voices, but he was not able to find anything.  
He could see caution flash in his younger self's eyes, before he apparently decided to first gain more information about this intruders before constructing a plan to punish them for their brazenness of intruding his home.  
“Why should you give me a soul mate? Surely not out of selflessness?” He heard himself ask, his eyes still looking searchingly around.

 

“Indeed, we are far from selfless,” the voices answered, a smirk evident in their words.  
“Tell me then, what is in for you?” His younger self demanded to know, standing up and staring to attentively strode through his throne room, while seeming perfectly relaxed and casual.  
“We want to roam the world again, to live again, but we need a master of our kind.”  
“Than you want to join me?”  
The voices snickered, before answering: “You can not be our master, you are not from our kind. But we want you to help us create a master for us.”

Voldemort was frowning in confusion, this situation made no sense and even so he could clearly see that it was his memory, it felt not in the slightest bit familiar to him.

 

“Than search for one who is already living. I have no interest in creatures who are unwilling to join me. And now leave before I will kill even the last of your kind for intruding my home,” his younger self sneered, and spun around to face the direction from which the voices had last sounded.

“You can not harm us and to find a master is not possible, the born one's are long since lost.”  
“Your problems are none of my concerns and if there are no masters living anymore, I can not possibly help you either, even if I wanted.” His past self's lips curled in disdain and annoyance at the situation, he had always hated situations he had not planned and even more so those, he could not control.

 

“You can, dark prodigy,” the voices disagreed. “We can sire a new master from your magic and blood. He will be born to a mortal couple, seeing that he needs more than one pair of genes and that you are not able to carry him yourself.”   
“Than you will give me a son, not a soul mate?”

Voldemort saw the moment his younger self's interest was awoken, even though he could not understand himself anymore. Had he ever been lonely enough to be interested in such a dubious deal? 

 

“Do not worry, we will give you a mate and a son, you will not have to choose,” The voices reassured his younger self. “But be warned; You will have to feed your mate-son. Our kind can only live from magic which rivals our own and a new master can only be sired by one immensely powerful and dark, like you, Dark Lord of the human race.” 

Voldemort could not believe what he saw in his past self's eyes; He was honestly considering to agree. Wishing he could travel into the past and crucio some sense into himself, Voldemort resigned himself to continue watching.

 

“Your master, will he be a threat for me?”  
Voldemort sighed, at least his younger version was showing some of the brains he possessed.  
“Not, if you do not wish so,” the voices sounded obedient now where they were about to get what they wished.  
“I agree, but only under the permission, that he will be not stronger than myself,” Voldemort heard his past self agreeing to the ridiculous deal and an uneasy feeling entered him.

 

“Than we have an agreement,” the voices agreed.   
“How will I recognize my son and my mate?”   
“Oh, you will have no problems,” the voices seemed to smirk once more and in the next moment the present Voldemort felt a rush of magic, unfortunately it was too quickly gone before he could memorize it's signature, but as he looked up, he saw his younger self standing in the middle of his throne room, rigid, blood was dripping from his nose and a wet spot was shimmering at the front of his ropes. Apparently, Voldemort thought, the creatures (what ever they were) had used more than his blood and magic to create this son and mate.

 

The scene started to blur and in the next moment Voldemort found himself standing in Diagon Alley.   
Looking around, he searched for his foolish version. How could he have ever agreed to such a deal? A son and a mate... well, the thought of a son he could mold into a powerful tool was a good idea, but a lover would only be building his own weakness and he certainly didn't need an heir, he after all, did not plan on dying.

 

He finally spotted a tall figure with broad shoulders and slim waist, clad completely in a long, black cloak, the hood pulled deep into his face. His younger self was standing in the shadows, that alone told Voldemort, he was witnessing a scene maybe a year or two before his sudden fall, because he must already have been powerful and feared enough to dare going to Diagon Alley, something he had not been able to do in the years where he had silently build his fellowship and power, carefully hidden, so that Dumbledore would not notice his actions.

 

Suddenly his younger version's posture stiffened and turning around, Voldemort followed his line of sight, landing on a familiar and hated couple. Lily and James potter where smiling happily at each other and Lily was shortly touching her still flat belly, but the magic radiating from her was not like the magic of a pregnant witch should be, it was not even completely light anymore, instead she was radiating with a blazing, dark power, still weak, but clearly there and clearly similar to his own. In this moment Voldemort realized who the couple was who would bear his son and he froze in shock. 

 

The Potters, this could not be possible, Voldemort thought, bile rising in his throat. Did this mean that Harry Potter... no, he shook his head. Lilly Potter must have had a miscarriage and lost his son, because he had met Harry Potter only once since his fall, and the boy was certainly not his son. 

Unfortunately, his argumentation should not be affirmed. Voldemort couldn't say how many pieces of memories he watched and how long it took him, but it grew clearer and clearer that Lily was indeed carrying his child without any problems and with every memory Voldemort could recognize his own signature in the baby's magic clearer and clearer, even though his own magic felt cold and not hot like the burning flames of hell. It was also quite clearly inhuman, but still very much immature and had not a stable signature yet. 

So he watched the Potter couple, remembering the voices saying, “Seeing as he needs two sets of genes.” He watched them shopping baby clothes, going to St. Mungo's for check ups and buying toys in preparation for their son. Lily's stomach grew bigger and her face brighter, while his past self was getting more eager at the same pace.

 

His mind was in a turmoil while simultaneously feeling frozen when he found himself once again in his throne room. His former self was clearly making himself ready to leave, when a soft knock sounded.  
“Come in,” he heard himself order and a moment later a much younger severus Snape entered and kneeled down in front of him.  
“My Lord,” Severus greeted, waiting until he was allowed to speak further.  
“I hope it is important. I was about to leave,” his younger self said coldly.  
“I believe so, my Lord. I overheard a prophecy,” Severus answered politely.  
“A prophecy? About whom?”  
Severus gulped visibly, back then he had not yet been so practiced in Occlumancy. “Of a child with the power to defeat you. It is supposed to be born at the end of August,” he finally said, visibly fearing a ruthless punishment for bringing these bad news, but his younger self only laughed in true, malicious delight, sending shivers down his servants spine.

 

In contrast to Severus, Voldemort could understand where his amusement had come from. Every child of his, of course, would potentially have the power to defeat him. The voices, of course, had promised him that his son would be weaker, but cunning and a good strategy could always make up for slightly less power.

Suddenly Voldemort remembered Nagini telling him, he had been amused by the prophecy at first. Back than, without this memory, he had not been able to comprehend, but now he saw his past reasoning clearly.

 

“You can leave again,” his former self ordered and Severus rose with a confused expression, but visibly relieved to not have been tortured, he quickly bowed and left without another word.

 

Another memory of his younger self watching the Potters and his growing son followed, this time they were in a park and his son had to be due very soon. Lily Potter's stomach was huge and she was only walking slowly as she and her husband made their way around a middle sized pawn. 

 

His younger self was carefully following them hidden under a few very strong and very dark consealment spells, but Voldemort could still sense him clearly with his high and sensitive abilities.   
His younger self seemed very excited, as far as he ever got excited, but there was a certain gleam in his red eyes and by now he even could understand the sentiment. His son's magic had already grown to be immensely powerful and so deliciously dark, inhuman and burning like the flames of Fiend-Fire; Hotter than anything else he had ever felt. And he could feel that there, in the light witches stomach was really growing his, Lord Voldemort's son, unknown to the world.

 

In the eyes of his former self he saw the impatient and the deeply hidden wish for his own family (which he had thought he had already buried for all eternity while still at Hogwarts) flickering back into life.

 

The Vision blurred again and the next thing he saw was himself shouting at Severus.  
“Into hiding?” He shouted in fury and pointed his wand onto his young follower. “Crucio!” Snape writhed in agony, silently screaming, but his younger self didn't lift the curs until blood was leaking from his servant's mouth.   
“You will find out where they are and how I can get to them! They have something that is mine!” he ordered, his voice a threatening hiss.

 

The next memories were only quick successions of pictures. Apparently his younger self had not been able to find a way to get to the Potters and collect his son, who had by now been born. With every moment he grew more restless. Of course, no one of his followers had any idea, but Voldemort could clearly see how agonized he had been. His younger self soon looked as if he had neither slept nor eaten in a very long time, only held upright by his dark magic. The pain over being left alone a second time was visible to him on his younger face. He even tried to find the voices, but to no success.

 

When finally Peter Pettigrew appeared with the message that he had been announced the new secret keeper to provide more safety for the Potters, Voldemort could clearly see that his mind had already been very far gone at that point in time.   
The pictures blurred again and next thing he watched himself storming the Potter's house in Godric's Hollow, intend on getting his son. 

 

His younger self fought James Potter, but after about ten minutes he defeated him and quickly made his way up the stairs into the nursery, where one Lily Potter was standing in front of the crib, a very familiar, green eyed and brown haired baby clutched to his chest. She quickly laid him down and stepped protectively in front of the little bed.

 

Voldemort stepped nearer to the crib and examined the baby lying in there, while his younger self was shouting at Lily Potter. Harry Potter was radiating with dark magic, how the Potters had never noticed that something was wrong with their son, he could not fathom. His eyes were still slightly bluish, like the eyes of most baby's were and his face still too round for Voldemort to be able to see if the baby held any resemblance to himself or not. But the child's radiating magic was prove enough.

 

Hearing Lily shout “No, not Harry! Please not Harry! Kill me instead!” he stepped back again, again watching the scene. He watched himself lift his wand and speak the killing curse. Lily fell lifelessly to the ground, but instead of witnessing his moment of victory, Voldemort saw something break inside his younger self's eyes. In horror he watched his himself stepping up to his son, saying: “So, you are the one who cost me so much pain. I will not let you grow up into an enemy.” His younger self lifted his wand slowly, and as his curse rebounded, it was not due to Lily Potter's sacrifice, but to his own magic refusing to kill his own child.

 

With a gasped Voldemort emerged from his forgotten memories. His heart was racing in his chest and cold sweat was covering his skin as he slowly realized what he had just learned. This was too good to be true. Not only was one of his most dangerous enemies his son (a son, he had created with his magic, blood and semen), his other enemy also wanted him to help safe said son. He knew it and Dumbledore knew it as well; by asking him to save the light side's hero, the old coot was practically handing him the war on a silver platter. And even if he had still wanted to kill Harry Potter, the thought of turning the light side's hero dark would have ended this wish. Oh yes, it would make his victory so much sweeter when he would present a Harry Potter to the world who had fallen under his power, under the power of his own father. But if Harry Potter was indeed on the brink of death was yet to determined.   
He chuckled darkly. Dumbledore had wanted to keep his son away from him, to raise him into a weapon against him, but his plan had failed. It had taken fourteen years, but his son would finally join his side, where he had always belonged. Already plans were forming in his mind with ideas wherefore he could all use Harry. His son would easily be able to infiltrate the old fool's ridiculous order and maybe even the ministry, if he planned wisely. But he was running ahead of himself.

 

Taking a deep intake of air, he tried to calm himself and summarize what he had learned:  
These creatures had clearly kept their promises and given him a son. They had implanted the created foetus into Lily Potter, why they had chosen her he could not say, he only hoped that his son was not a Halfblood.   
The Potters had never found out that their son was in fact not their's and after the prophecy had been made, they had gone into hiding with the help of Albus Dumbledore. That he had not been able to reach his son (whom he had clearly grown attached to, even though he could understand this fact as less as his past feelings for the child), had driven him nearly into insanity and when he finally had reached his offspring, his mind had already shut down due to the long exposition of mental pain. He had only felt this pain, pain he had sworn never to feel again in his life and when he had looked into the crip, he had only seen another source for his agony, having forgotten all past experiences with his son. What a truly bad example for mental protection.

 

Yes, he could admit it; Back then, loneliness had been his greatest weakness. A weakness, he had foolishly believed to have overcome too early.

 

Thinking back to the one time three years ago when he had last met his son, he could not find any resemblance between Harry Potter and himself. He had also not felt the dark magic which he had felt in his memories. But magic was very complicated, especially blood magic. It was possible, that Harry's body had sealed away his inhuman genes after he had been attacked by the father who had created him and had been supposed to protect him, such defense mechanisms were known.   
Dumbledore had written that Harry had indeed come into an inheritance on Halloween, just a few weeks after he himself had returned to a body, that supported his theory. His sons magic had probably sensed that he had come back and finally triggered Harry's full power. 

 

This explained so much; why he had felt so possessive over his young enemy; why he had always thought Harry Potter to be his; and finally, why these locked away memories had not left his thoughts in the past weeks.

 

A sneer suddenly formed on his lips, replacing the smirk that had been there only a second before. His son, made from his magic and blood had been raised by Dumbledore and muggles, he had become a Gryffindor. He would have to bring him to his home and try to repair some of the damage that had been done to him. Harry Potter, even though he could not understand the sentimentality of his younger self, would receive the best education in all subjects, light and dark. He would clad his son into the finest materials and would let no doubt arise over what kind of position his heir hold within his ranks. No, no one would look down on Harry Potter, regardless who the boy had been so far, because degrading his heir would be degrading himself, a disrespectfulness he would not tolerate from his followers. And he would, of course, control the boy tightly. There was no doubt in him that Harry Potter would not graciously accept him. 

 

Looking down on the letter he was still holding, he frowned. Dumbledore had written him that he was Harry Potter's mate, not his father, whilst his memory clearly told him the opposite. Bringing the first memory to the frond of his mind, he tried to recall all details. 

“Do not worry, we will give you a mate and a son, you will not have to choose,” they had told him. Had they been the same creatures which had told Harry that he was his mate-father? That would make the Golden Boy his mate-son. Voldemort dismissed the idea. No human or non-human took part in incest between parents and children, it was (genetically speaking) suicide. 

 

Lifting the letter again, he quickly read the last lines to not miss some other important information. He started once more with the last sentence he had red previously:

My son's corporal powers themselves helped me to determined you as his destined mate; they call you his mate-father.

He had forgotten that the old coot had adopted Harry. It had not been of any interest to him before now, because the man always have had far to much influence on the boy than he would have preferred. But now he was curious what had mate the man take these steps after knowing the boy for three years already. Why not earlier? This way Dumbledore would have had even more time to raise the boy into his weapon.   
Regardless of the reason behind Dumbledore's step, he would change the guardianship as soon as possible. And his son's name as well, Harry James was not an adequate name for a Slytherin heir. What a mundane name, it made him sick.  
Sneering at the letter, he proceeded to read the the last paragraph:

For reason you surely understand, I will not put more information into this letter, in case it gets intercepted. However, I am willing to answer any lingering question. Therefore this letter will transform into a portkey to my office when you tip it with your wand and say “Headmaster's Office.”

In hope to see you soon,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

 

Standing up, Voldemort smoothed his robes and went over to the pile of ashes, looking down on it. He wanted to keep the bird and send him through many lifetimes of torture, but ignoring his wish, he picked the little phoenix up instead and put it in his cloak pocket. If he wanted a chance to mold his son, he would have to seduce him slowly to his side, right now his mind set was too much that of a noble, fool-hearted Gryffindor, thus, torturing his beloved guardian's bird would not help his goals in the least. Once the boy was under his control though, he would not need to be so generous anymore, but for now it was unfortunate a necessity.

 

Sneering at nothing in particular, he pulled out his wand, tipped the letter and said: “Headmaster's Office.” It was time to collect his prize. 

 

…

 

It had been a long time since he had last stood in this room, but in all this years nothing had changed, only that the office of the former Professor was now much larger and located in the highest tower of Hogwarts.  
He regarded all the many trinkets, small magical artifacts, books and all the dismatching, colorful curtains with a sneer, before finally turning to the person who had invited him back into the place he had once considered his only home.

 

The old fool was sitting behind his desk, chin resting on his intertwined finger as he already had liked to do back in his own school days, but today he was for once not smiling and even his eyes were not twinkling. 

 

“Ah, Tom. I have hoped you would come,” the old coot greeted him whilst waving his wand and making a comfortable and luxurious looking leather armchair appear opposite of him. Apparently the man did not only knew the taste of Gryffindors.  
“I suspect you will still have some questions,” Dumbledore said while he sat down without a sign of gratitude.   
“Indeed, Dumbledore. I think there are quite a lot thinks we need to discuss,” he said and waved his own wand over a cup of tea that had just appeared in front of him, checking it for any kind of spells and potions. When he found nothing, he lifted it up and drank a bit, before placing it back down. He had not really expected to find anything, Gryffindors were generally to nobel for such backhanded moves and furthermore, it would not help Dumbledore to win his favor, which he clearly needed.  
The old coot was looking at him expectantly, so he simply asked his first question. “You wrote that I am Harry's mate. Where do you have this information from?”

 

“Ah, yes. The term I used was not very clear. To be honest, I never have heard the term mate-father before either and only have a vague theory about it, but I preformed a magical ritual this afternoon, after he had collapsed in his Potion's class and the result was clear.”

 

With an inclining of his head, he offered generously: “Maybe I will be able to clarify this term at the end of our conversation, I have some inside in this matter myself. But first I would like to know, what kind of creature Harry is.”   
The term mate and father did still not fit together in his opinion, but regardless of what he personally thought about Dumbledore, the man knew his magic and he did not believe that he had made any mistake in the ritual. The old coot had to be more than certain, otherwise he would never had invited him, his biggest enemy, here.

 

“Harry is a Libris.”  
Voldemort did not let show that he had never before heard about such a creature and simply nodded in understanding, taking another sip of tea.  
“Libris are a special kind of demons,” the old fool continued as if he knew that he needed an explanation. “They belong to the same family as Incubi and Succubi.”

Voldemort tightened the grip around his tea cup. Fortune was smiling down on him today. All those days and hours had he searched for a trace of those ancient beings and now one was given to him freely. Beneath his black hood a triumphant smile stretched his lipless mouth. He had never heard about Libris before, but he knew enough about demons to realize that his son had to be very powerful when the old coot comparred his species with Succubi and Incubi. Demos were divided in cast, so much had he been able to find out. The bottom made the Lesser Demons, who looked as inhuman as goblets and were the most weak of them all. In the middle stood the Humanoid Demons, like Harry was. The very top of the Demon Hierarchy was made from only one single being, who was their king and supposedly of Royal Magic. The term Royal Magic had made few sense to him in the beginning, wizards only new Royal Blood, but he supposed that it was the magical power and abilities which would make this demon their king. This concept would be similar to his own inheritance. His magic had made him the Dark Lord, but he first Dark Lord (which had been Salazar Slytherin, of course) had also tied this magic to his own bloodline, so that someone needed the right blood and the right magic to call himself the Dark Lord. 

Naturally to say, many wizards had called themselves the Dark Lord since then (like Grindelwald), but neither had been a true Dark Lord. But the fool from the Ministry had yet to realize why he was so much more powerful than his predecessors. Maybe they would realize the truth one day, but most likely they would remain ignorant.

Regardless the Ministry and his own inheritance Dumbledore's conviction slowly started to make sense, especially if he took into account what he had learned from his own memories:  
All documents he had found had said that Demons had long gone died out and those voices had told him the same, that was most likely why they had needed to create a new Humanoid Demon with his help. This would of course mean, that only the Humanoid ones had died out, while the ones who had created his son were most likely Lesser Demons who had somehow survived. But why the more powerful Libris, Succubi and Incubi should have died out but not the Lesser Demons, he could not fathom. 

What ever the truth was in the end, Harry had been created through him, which made the boy his son, but as a humanoid creature, he would need to consume life force and magic. Demons did through sex, which would make Harry not only his son, but also his mate. And he needed to be Harry's mate, because Libris were dark creatures who would need to feast from dark wizards. But Harry was also created from his blood and magic, would make him so powerful that only his magic would be able to sustain the child. It all made perfect sense. The only question remaining was, why demons did not find the concept of incest so abhorrent as all other beings. Well, he would get his answer in time, it was not very important right now. 

Emerging from his thoughts, he sneered at Dumbledore, who was eying him expectantly. As less as he wanted to give the old goat any informations, within Hogwarts Dumbledore was even more powerful and it would be a stupid thing to provoke a battle in the close proximity of his currently very weak son. So for once he would engage in a fair exchange of informations, compromises and favoure, until he hold Harry in his hands.

Meeting Dumbledore's blue eyes, he said: “Fifteen years ago, I got a mysterious visit from some bodiless creatures, I suspect now that they were Lesser Demons.”   
Dumbledore nodded, but his face did not reveal any further informations.  
“They were looking for someone who would be able to help them create a master for their kind. In exchange for my help they promised me a mate and a son.”

With malicious joy he saw sadness shortly flickering through those usually twinkling, blue eyes. Acting as if he did not see the expression, he continued: “Unfortunately, I did not remember this incident until I read your letter,” he said nonchalantly. “And I certainly did not expect to met my son and mate in one person.”  
Pausing, he indicated wordlessly at the question he wanted to have answered with an elegant motion of his hand, and as he watched Dumbledore close his eyes in unhidden sorrow, he knew that the old man knew the answer.

 

For a few second the old coot sat only silently opposite of him, but finally he nodded and started to answer the question: “These three demon kinds, were the first beings on this planet. I suspect, that incest was a necessity and the key to their survival, back in a time where maybe only a dozen of them existed.”

 

He did not hid his smug smirk at those words. No text had until now revealed to him the fact that demons were the first of all beings. The thought of what kinds of unknown powers must be hidden in their cells send a wave of pleasure through his body.

Having gotten this question finally answered, he changed the topic back to Harry. “You said, you needed my help because Harry is dying?” He asked, placing his cup back down.   
After all he had heard from Dumbledore, the possibility of his son being at the brink of death was even more questionable. Harry was a demon and demons were immortal, which was one of the main reasons why he was so interested in his long lost son. 

“He is,” Dumbledore nodded gravely. “His magic is searching for you. As you surely know, these kind of demons need to consume magic and life force, without the sustenance they grow weak and finally die, but due to his searching magic this point is approaching rapidly.”

Frowning, Voldemort pondered if demons were after all not immortal, but quickly dismissed the idea; too much sources had been sure on this point. But than again, there was even a way to destroy vampires and they were considered immortal. Deciding that he would learn the truth if he went to his son, bowed his head slightly and said: “Then let us discuss the details of our arrangement and not loose more time.”

 

The old fool nodded and than asked unnecessarily: “You are aware that I am Harry's rightful guardian currently?”  
“Of course, a fact I intend to change as soon as possible,” he sneered in retort. He would not let Dumbledore have anymore say in his son's life.  
“I would not advise to change anything about it,” Dumbledore retorted smoothly. “Demons are considered died out, therefore there are no special laws for them, however, there are laws against incest. With you becoming his mate, you and I would have the same say in his life. You would gain much influence over Harry without giving the Ministry a legal foundation to take Harry away from you and then from me surely as well, and we both know that the Ministry is viewing Harry as a potential threat already.”

 

Voldemort gritted his teeth, unfortunately the old coot was right and currently his influence in the Ministry was not yet big enough to make him invincible, especially as long as he still was more or less mortal. But he still didn't intend to let Dumbledore have the upper hand. Coming to a decision he said:  
“Harry will move in with me and we will be officially married. Lucius Malfoy can make sure that the news about this connection does not come out until it is save for Harry.”  
“Very well, but I have to insist that he will continue his education here,” Dumbledore retorted.  
“Of course,” he agreed smoothly, even though he did not like the idea, but once he had ensured his power over his son, he could still forbid Harry to continue attending Hogwarts. And when the Triwizarding Tournament was finally over, of course. “It would make no sense to hide him, when Harry disappears suddenly, beside, he is still a champion of the Triwizarding Tournament, it would not do for my son to loose his magic because of a magical contract.”

 

“I see we have an understanding,” Dumbledore said and then added: “I still have to thank you for aiding Harry with one of your serpents, Tom.”  
Curling his lip in disdain, he sneered back: “Harry Potter has always been mine. But what would interest me is the reason for his adoption.”  
“Ah, I fear it is not my place to tell you the reason, but I can assure you it had nothing to do with the war. You should ask Harry when he trusts you more,” Dumbledore smiled friendly.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, he was not satisfied with the answer, but unfortunately Dumbledore was the only person he could not extract informations from. “I will do so then,” he promised with a slight hissing undertone in his voice. 

“One thing I still have to inform you about,” the old coot spoke up again, changing the the topic as if he had not heard his last words. Oh how he wanted to kill this man right now, but no, he had to consider his plans with his son and letting Dumbledore alive was also a part of it like sparing the phoenix and allowing his son to continue at Hogwarts.  
Making a motion with his hand, he prompted Dumbledore to continue.

“Harry knows that you are his mate, however, right now he is more willing to die then to complete this union... he is not very happy with the idea of having to share a bed with you, even though his servants have told him it would be enough to start with a courting bond...”

Taking another sip from his teacup, he said: “I will speak with him, I was always very convincing.” He would not allow his powerful offspring to die, because of a surge of foolish Gryffindor sentimentality.  
“Very well, I think it best, when we use my fireplace,” Dumbledore said and went over to his personal fireplace, holding out a bag with flew powder and added, “He is in the infirmary.”

Giving a curt nod, he through the powder into the flames, which turned green and he stepped inside, saying: “The Infirmary, Hogwarts.”  
When he stepped out again, he first thought that the Hospital Wing was empty, but then his eyes fell on a set of white, drawn curtains in the far right corner. The old fool stepped up next to him and motioned for him to go ahead. Making his way swiftly over he pushed the curtains with his wand to the site and came face to face with his son for the first time in over two years and froze. 

Harry Potter looked so much like his old self, but there were just enough other trades to give him his unique appearance as well. His hair (although still infuriatingly messy) had changed from a deep brown, to a satiny black, even darker than his own. His cheekbones were high and aristocratic, like those he had once possessed and Salazar Slytherin before him. His nose, even though small, was very straight. His lips were slightly fuller than his had been, but the shape was the same and the boy-hero's bronze complexion had made place for a noble paleness. 

How was this possible? Had the inheritance changed the boy so much? Considering the unfortunate attack of his own father which his son had been forced to face as a baby, it was possible that his magic had hidden more than some inhuman body parts. Glaring, he glanced over to the Dumbledore, it was all the old goat's fault. Had he not hidden the Potters, he would have never have attacked his son. Harry's magic would never have suppressed the bigger part of his being and the boy would have been raised properly, like an heir of him should have been raised.   
Tracing once more the features of his son, he licked his lips at the thought of breaking his sons Gryffindor-spirit in his bedroom and his cock stirred too life.   
He quickly changed the direction of his thoughts, before his body would show clear signs of his aroused state. 

It certainly was curious, how Harry, despite all these similarity to him, succeeded to still look like Harry Potter. He still had that disgracing bird's nest of hair and his cheeks were rounder than he himself had ever possessed in his youth, he only had noticed it just now.   
But beside all those changes, his son did not seem to have received an inheritance and he could also not feel any magical signature, but that was probably due to the boy's weakness, he had (after all) already witnessed the child doing magic.

Scanning the sleeping form once more, he noticed that his son was not breathing. He had not thought that his Harry's state would be indeed so dire that the old coot and the Matron would be forced to put him under the Sleep of Living Dead. At least it explained the lack of the magical signature.

 

Stretching his hand out, he wordlessly requested to be handed the antidote to the potion. Dumbledore gave it to him without hesitation. He bend forwards but stopped when a small black puppy suddenly appeared from under the covers and peaked up at him. His dark blue eyes looked fiercely at him without any sign of fear.

 

“Ah, this is snuffles, Harry's second familiar, a special breading from our keeper. His goal was to breed dogs with the same characteristics chic-chicks have, so he probably will stay this small,” the old coot said from behind him, a smile evident in his voice.   
Voldemort gave the pup another glare which would have made his Death Eaters quiver in fear but the animal only yawned hugely. Sneering one last time, he turned to his son and grabbed his chin to open his mouth. 

 

His son's skin was unusual hot, the first sign that hinted to his inhumanity. He ignored the fiery pain that burned his skin at the touch, but this pain did not come from Harry's body temperature. He knew, as a part-snake, his son's heat would feel rather nice to him. No, that was not the source; he and Dumbledore had simply forgotten to take one thing into account; He and his son were not able to touch each other.  
Ignoring the problem for the moment, he pried the small mouth open and uncorked the viol of Potion with his thumb, before pouring it into the small mouth. He massaged Harry's throat and waited for the potion to take effect, but as soon as it did so his son started moaning softly as if in agony, even though he did not wake up.

 

Like the old coot he had always believed that this effect had been cost by Lily Potter's sacrifice of Love and the immense love this boy was able to feel, but now he knew that it was far from the truth. It in fact was a curse, instigated by his own attack. Parent's were not supposed to kill their children and while it was an regular occurrence in the muggle world, in the magical world the magic of father and child would act up and create protections; in their case it was the curse of not being able to touch each other and stand in close contact. 

Browsing his mind quickly, he turned to Dumbledore. An evil smirk stretched his thin lips as he realized, he could use this problem to his advantages and gain even more power over his son. “I think a blood marriage will be sufficient enough to clear this problem,” he said smugly.  
“Yes,” the old coot agreed with a nod and a thoughtful expression, clearly unhappy. “The exchange of blood should suffice to rebuild the magical bond between father and son again and to neutralize this problem.”

 

Voldemort's smirk widened in satisfaction. This form of marriage had fallen out of use after it had become uncommon to marry children at a young age to adults for political ambitions.   
With this marriage Dumbledore would stay his son's legal father, but he himself would also be included in the guardianship of Harry Potter, because it was believed that underaged married witches and wizards could not bee seen as adults only because of their married status. Therefore the husband was supposed to substitute the parents whenever they were not near, which was quite often as soon as the young spouse moved in with his or her new husband; He would not have to ask Dumbledore's permission for every decision which would fall into his area.

 

Of course he had never planned on doing so, but with a blood marriage, Dumbledore would have no legal ground to object him. Of course the old coot would still have an eye on his son (he refused to call Harry their son), but all he would be able to do would be protest.  
“Harry and I will exchange our blood then as soon as he has agreed to this. This way the magic will have time until tomorrow to rebuild our parental bond and hopefully give him some of his energy back.” He said and sat down on one of the empty wooden chair before waking his son up.

 

…

 

Harry couldn't say where he was, or what had woken him, the last thing he remembered was the Potions classroom. His scar throbbed and his head hurt. Have he had another vision? He couldn't remember, he felt so weak, so incredibly weak. Blinking his eyes open, he came face to face with the white ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

A movement to his left alerted him to someone sitting there and collecting all his power he slowly turned his head to the side, only to see the man of his nightmares sitting there, the man who had killed his parents and who was his mate.

Voldemort had pulled up the hood of his black cloak, so the only thing he could see from him were his gleaming red eyes, but he had an idea what laid hidden in those shadows and was glad for the hood. But even without seeing his face, the man was an impressive and imposing figure. His shoulders were broad and strong, he sat straight and Harry could feel Voldemort's magic moving like snakes around the man and on his own skin. 

“Harry, my boy,” a soft and familiar voice to Voldemort's right said and he trie to turn his head further, but he was too weak. Rustling sounded and in the next moment Albus stood behind Voldemort. It was odd to see those two calmly next to each other, without wands drawn and curses flying.

“Tom has come here to help you and to find a joined way which will make you able to accept your mate. He also can finally explain to you what the title mate-father means, my boy.”

His eyes widened a fraction and they flickered back to his most hated enemy before growing cold. “I don't want to know. I will die soon anyway, because I will never accept him as my mate or whatever,” he said weakly, but vehemently, those few words almost costing him the little remainder of his energy.

“Harry,” Voldemort said suddenly and he flinched at the unnaturally high, hissing voice. The sound felt like sharp ice on his skin and he shivered involuntarily. Having not expected that Voldemort would actually address him, he looked over to the bastard again in surprise.  
“Harry,” he said again, before continuing, “I will tell you which roll in your life I exactly have and afterwards I will listen to all the objections you have and try to find a solution with you. I expect you to at least try to solve this, so does your headmaster.”

Voldemort's voice was cold and commanding, clearly showing that the man was used to give orders without being objected. This tone alone made Harry want to refuse any conversation, but looking up to Albus, he saw that the man was nodding in affirmation. Clenching his jaw he fixed his eyes back on Voldemort, refusing to at least say anything as long as he hadn't the option of not listening, but Voldemort seemed not disturbed and simply took his silence as agreement.  
“The word mate-father is not a mere title, it is to be understood literally.”

His heart started to race again and cold sweat was breaking out on his skin. His mind was reeling and trying to tell him, that Voldemort could not mean his words as they sounded. He was a Gryffindor, a nearly exact copy of James, his father, and he had the eyes of Lily, his mother, there was no way that Voldemort could be his father. And he certainly could not be his mate as well. 

He refused to listen to the voice that pointed out that his appearance had changed much and he did not look so much like James Potter anymore; that he had gotten a dark creature inheritance from somewhere and that his magical core had changed also.

“Unfortunately, due to an unpleasant string of events I did not remember these things until I received a letter from... Dumbledore this afternoon,” Voldemort continued smoothly.   
“But...” he stammered, panic rising in his chest. This could not be his fait, he could not be this man's son also, that was impossible. Hadn't Sirius and Remus witnessed his mother's pregnancy with him? If he really was Voldemort's son, that would mean she would have betrayed James with the man, which she would never have done, he was certain of this. And how could he be expected to mate with his father if this all was true?

Voldemort seemed to read all his questions in his eyes, because he started to speak once more, his deep voice filling the Hospital Wing easily.  
“I created you with my magic and the help of some creatures...”  
Harry's eyes widened. The shadows. Could they have wanted to return to this world so desperately that they had joined Voldemort to reach their goal? Could they really be so ruthless? Unfortunately he had no doubt in this fact.

“They implanted you into a witches stomach, because neither of us would have been able to carry you. Unfortunately, I never was able to collect and rase you, and you grew up in the believe that the Potters were your parents,” Voldemort waved his hand dismissively, as if he was informing him about the weather. Tears gathered in Harry's eyes and he turned his head to look away, not wanting to believe any of this, not wanting to see Albus nod in affirmation. He was not Voldemort's son. His whole past, everything he believed he was, could not have been a lie. But Voldemort continued his tale and he had to listen, because he was too weak to place his hands over his ears and block the man's voice out.

 

“I did not know that you would be born a demon, but demons were the first creatures on earth and thus, incest is not something out of the ordinary for them. You do not can forget that there is no other wizard strong enough to keep you alive, Harry.”

 

Harry shook his head, he didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to face this sick reality. The tears finally spilled over, but he bit on his lips to prevent himself from making any noise. Even though he was dying, he wouldn't let Voldemort see the full extend of his weakness and desperation. He would not give the bastard this satisfaction.  
“Harry,” Albus' gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Please turn around and try to find with us a solution for this. Please, think of all the people you are dear to, who love you. Your friends, Padfoot, Minerva, your familiar, we all don't want to see you die. I am sure we can find an understanding.”

 

Shaking his head desperately he started to say “And I...,” but was interrupted by a violent cough. He could taste blood in his mouth again, but wasn't concerned anymore, he had accepted his fait.  
“And I...” he started again, “will not see you all die. If I mate with him, he will surely use me to get to you. That is why I will die.”  
He tried to turn his head back and glare at Voldemort, but he was actually so weak that he could not do such a small movement anymore. Suddenly a pleasantly cold hand touched the side of his face, while the pain in his head and scar grew stronger. He stiffened as he realized who it must be, even though the touch itself was surprisingly gentle.

When his head was turned around, Voldemort let go of him and examined him for a long moment. These cold, red eyes and the man's swirling, evil magic were making him even more uncomfortable and nervous and he a shiver went down his spine. He had not feared the man very much when he have had his wand and shouldn't fear him now where he was dying anyway, but somehow he did. He wanted to look away, but like the rabbit in front of the snake he had frozen. Finally Voldemort said, his hissing voice cold as eyes: “I can not promise you to never kill your friends, but I can promise you to spare them as long as they do not openly oppose and challenge me.”

He shook his head, baffled by the statement. “But you killed my parents,” he whispered brokenly.  
“They were never your parents, you never belonged to them. I even gave Lily Potter the chance to step aside and live, but she refused,” Voldemort retorted without any ounce of sympathy in his voice.  
“She didn't step to the side, because she loved me, like a parent should love their child!” He shouted, or at least tried to.  
“Lily's magic was not what saved you, it was mine. Because we are father and son and parents can not kill their children!” Voldemort suddenly sneered and his eyes flashed threateningly.

Harry recoiled, shocked by the sudden outburst of emotions in those otherwise emotionless eyes. “Why are you doing this? Wouldn't it be easier for you to simply let me die?” he asked.  
“It would be easier, I will not deny this, but you are... my son.”  
He couldn't believe that the man had not more motives, Voldemort did nothing without gaining something, he was a Slytherin through and through. He even was the heir of Salazar Slytherin. So was he, apparently, but he certainly did not feel like an heir to the cunning and devious founder. He would not even have considered believing this crazy story, if it was not for Albus' silent affirmation in the background.   
“This can not be your only reason,” he croaked out.

“I see, you have at least inherit some of my intelligence,” Voldemort said and a malicious smirk was evident in his voice. “My goals have not changed, I will not deny it.” The man inclined his head nonchalantly.

“Harry please. Think about your friends,” Albus suddenly pleated. “Think about what Mr. Weasley told you about chances.”  
Harry hadn't to asked what his guardian meant. Did they really believe he would be able to change Voldemort's mind, which had been set on one goal for the last 50 years or so?

“Harry, I do not believe you wish to die. You had barely time to live yet, you are young. Do you not have dreams?” Voldemort suddenly said, remembering Harry of all those things he still wished to do, of the reason why he had been so desperate after hearing who his mate was. Yes, he was still young and no, he had not really lived yet. He wouldn't have had the time even without the Dursleys' torturing him, but because of them he had lived even less than any other fourteen years old boy.

“Don't you want to save this world? Do you not think you could achieve your goals much more easily with a direct view at my plans?” Voldemort taunted him, showing why he was the Lord over all Slytherins and making his mind waver.  
“I promise you that you will not wish for anything. I will let you continue your education at Hogwarts and I will even spare all your friends as long as they stay neutral. Without you, your side will surely loose this war, I can tell you as much, because no one can rival my magic like you can. Do you honestly want to leave them all behind? Is my offer really worse then dying?”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling that he was defeated. No, this offer was not worse than dying. He loved his friends and didn't want to leave them behind. And he loved his guardian and godfather. There was so much beside his family and friends he loved; Quidditch and the frisky evenings in the common room, he even liked most of his classes and he truly could not let them fight alone against Voldemort. Maybe they all were right, maybe he would be able to find a way to save the wizarding world this way. 

But how should he ever share a bed with this man? He felt still so small, so young, so innocent. Another tear rolled down his cheeks, before he opened his eyes again and looked once more at the man who had created him, he could not call him father. 

“If I agree, how will my life continue?” He asked, by now his voice was so weak, it was nearly inaudible and even speaking this loud had made him feel even more weaker.  
“If you agree, than we will exchange blood to overcome our little... proximity problem,” Voldemort started. “It will also be a preparation for our marriage.”  
“Marriage?” Harry squeaked. He knew he would have to mate with Voldemort some day if he wanted to live, the fact that he would have to have sex regularly with him afterwards he tried to forget for the time being, but no one had mentioned marriage until now, not even Albus.  
“Yes, Harry,” Albus said calmly. “It is the easiest solution to your pains and it will also give you more protection from the Ministry, we both fear what they are planning for you. An adoption can be annulled fairly easily, this isn't the case with a marriage. Marriages are protected by very old laws and magic itself.”

“What are they planning for me? Do they plan anything?” he asked.  
“I was not the one who hexed the Goblet of fire,” Voldemort answered smoothly. “And as low as my opinion of your guardian is, I do not believe that he was the one either.”

Gulping, Harry nodded in understanding. At least about this matter he had clarity now. He had always thought that Umbridge had behaved suspiciously after his nomination, but Voldemort had still been the more likely candidate. 

“Tomorrow Dumbledore will bring you to my Manor, where we will marry. Afterwards you will move in with me. I also plan to educate you more appropriately to your nature, but you will also continue your education here.”

Harry wanted to snort, but his heart was stumbling again. And he felt as if he was barely getting air into his lungs. Education according to his nature, he could imagine how that would look like, but it probably would even benefit him. He had no real understanding for his own magic and couldn't even do any light spells anymore. Pushing these thoughts to the side he asked, his voice weak and raspy: “And what is with the mating?”

“We do not need to mate immediately. Your headmaster told me that a courting bond would suffice for the time being and a courting period is is part of every proper marriage regardless,” Voldemort told him, but Harry only frowned. The shadows had used this term as well, but he had no idea what a courting period was.

Albus, who had more inkling to his areas of knowledge spoke up as he saw his confused look.  
“A courting period, Harry, is a time where the future couple is getting to know each other, it is quite common among purebloods, because their parents often choose their spouses. And even though you will already be married in legal terms, for your magic it will not matter, thus you can still get accustom to your husband without any pressure, while at the same time having all legal protections and benefits of a marriage.”

Harry laughed dryly. Maybe he would be more protected from the Ministry, but who would protect him from his spouse? And what use would it have to get to know Voldemort better? It would not turn this farce into a happy marriage with love ever after.   
Voldemort spoke up once more. “I will, of course, expect fidelity from you, but I think this is only a small request in return.”  
Harry would never have thought that the Dark Lord would allow his spouse to be unfaithful, so he simply nodded and answered: “As long as I can expect the same thing in return.”  
Voldemort inclined his head. “I always held traditions in high regards and fidelity is one of them.”  
“ThenI will be faithful,” he promised without telling his future husband that he was not interested in sex in the first place and that he would most likely never have started a physical relationship in the near future, if it hadn't been for his inheritance.

Looking up to Albus, Harry asked the last question he wanted to have answered before making his final decision: “How many people do... know about me?” He asked vaguely, hinting at their earlier discussion.   
“Tom has seen you, of course, but otherwise only those you are already aware of.”   
He sight in relieve. This was not as good as Voldemort not knowing anything about him, but at least he did not know what his powers exactly were. This would at least give him a small chance to survive a marriage with the Dark Lord. He met Albus' sorrowful, pleading eyes, he finally had come to a decision. “Fine, I will agree,” he said, his eyes still on Albus and only after he had seen the relieve in his blue eyes, did he looked back down at his sire and future husband and mate.

 

“Good,” Voldemort said, rose to his feet and waved his wand. Two silver goblets, ornamented with emeralds and Slytherin's crest appeared on his nightstand, next to a matching silver dagger. The dagger as well was adorned with the crest and small emeralds and it's blade of the dagger was very slim and pointy, like a snake's tooth.  
“These are ritual goblets and a ritual dagger. I am going to cut you now and gather some of your blood in one of the goblets,” the man explained. 

 

Harry gulped, somehow he had not imagine that they would really exchange blood, but now there was no way of backing out anymore, not after seeing the relieve in Albus' eyes. 

 

Voldemort's hands were once again unbelievingly warm as they touched him and another shiver went through him, something inside him was purring in pleasure and relieve while his scar throbbed painfully again. 

The contact and pain made his breath even more shallower and his vision was blurring once again. He barely felt it when the dagger was piercing his wrist and blood started to drip from the cut into the goblet. He felt his eyes roll backwards and his heart skipped a few beats, but then, when he almost believed that he would die after all, that his body was by now too weak to survive the marriage and it's preparation, the pain stopped and his heartbeat grew steadier again while his vision focussed back on his soon-to-be husband.

 

Voldemort was looking down on him, but his red eyes were showing no sign of any feelings. He followed the goblet with his eyes when Voldemort finally sat it to the side; it was nearly filled to the edge and completely black.

 

After the goblet stood securely on his nightstand again, Voldemort cleaned his dagger with a spell, he cut his left wrist open as well, before placing the dagger to the side and picking up the second goblet. In contrast to his own blood, Voldemort's was red as it should be. It seemed to take immensely long until the second goblet was filled as well and Harry wondered, if it had taken this long with him too.

 

Finally Voldemort placed this one to the side as well and closed the wound at his wrist with a flick of his wand. He then picked his goblet up again and stepped even closer to his bed.  
Harry would have startled as Voldemort suddenly slid his free hand beneath his head, if he still would have had the necessary energy, but he hadn't. His head was lifted and the goblet placed at his mouth.  
“Drink,” Voldemort instructed and having no other choice, he obliged.

 

When the first drop of the man's blood touched his tongue he could not suppress his groan. It tasted so good and sweet, and he had not eaten or drank anything for so long. With every gulp he felt his strength return and he slowly grew more aware. The liquid was prickling with magic and freezing his insides pleasurably on it's way down. And suddenly it didn't taste good and sweet anymore, suddenly, all he could taste was the evil darkness of Voldemort's blood. It slowly started to fill him up and he started to struggle, sudden fear that he would loos himself to this darkness. This was not the same darkness he possessed. His darkness was only magical, but Voldemort's was deeply connected with his whole soul and being. He struggled harder to get free and away from the evil liquid, how had he ever thought he could do this? How had he ever thought he might find a way to change this man? This marriage was not a change to save their world, this was the way to it's certain destruction.   
A voice snickered in his mind, if it was Voldemort himself, his magic or his own fear struck mind, he couldn't say, but it gave him the adrenaline boost he needed and suddenly he was shoving the Dark Lord away from him. 

Red blood spilled all over him and the blanket and he blinked dazedly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. After a second that felt like a small eternity, he determinedly looked up, but all he saw was a furious flashing in those sanguine eyes, before a pale, spidery had shot out from under Voldemort's robes and grabbed him around his neck, squeezing painfully.

“You stupid boy!” the man hissed in rage, sounding more like a snake than ever.  
“Don't delude yourself into thinking that you can escape me! You are mine, by magic and blood and you always have been mine. I don't need to be gracious, there are more convenient methods to bind you to me. I will not let you go and you will listen to my orders, for I am the one who created you!” Voldemort tightened his grip around his neck even further until the fragile bones were creaking dangerously. He gasped in pain and tried to get air, but the bit of strength he had gotten through the blood exchange quickly left him, probably because they had never finished the ritual. He probably should start to feel panicked, but he had made his decision, he would die and if it would be by Voldemort's hands or the hands of his inheritance didn't matter. 

His ears started to buzz as his heart constricted painfully in his chest and he barely noticed it when Voldemort also grabbed his right arm to apparate away with him.

But Albus had noticed and a red light shot past him, hitting Voldemort's hand and he felt weakly back onto his bed. His vision blurred as he tried to regain his breath and watched Voldemort swirling around, his bone-like wand already in hand and pointed at Dumbledore. But Dumbledore only raised his own wand and his free hand, said something and suddenly an enormous surge of magic made the whole castle shake in it's foundation. In the next moment Voldemort just vanished, as if driven away by the headmaster and Hogwarts itself. 

Harry smiled one last time, relieved that Albus, his friends and Sirius were save for now, before darkness overpowered him again. 

…

Albus' chest heaved heavily as he slowly lowered his wand. The last tremors ran through the walls and the floor beneath him, but a moment later all was silent again.  
He wanted to slump down into his chai and wallow in his sorrow for once, but his fight was not over. He needed to guard Harry from any spell or ritual Tom would surely soon try to cast on him.   
A single tear slid down his cheeks as he inwardly said goodbye to the boy he considered a son. But he could not decide differently, Harry would never forgive him, if he let Tom bound him to himself like a slave, therefore the only other choice was to let Harry die.

“Oh Harry,” he whispered. His eyes flickered over to the nearly lifeless form of his son, but he could not stand the sight and turned his face away as he started to cast protective shields. 1600 years of experience had not made him able to save the one person who was more important to him than anybody else. He had always felt connected to Harry in some way and after his son's inheritance he had come to know why. They were not from the same species, but there was no other species which walked on earth as long as their's. Still, they were too different, or he would do everything in his power to save Harry, but he couldn't.

What had made Harry change his mind? Had he not convinced him that death was no solution? Had Harry not wanted to find a way to save his friends and their magical world?  
He tried to think back to the moment when the boy had suddenly shoved Tom away, had something happened before? But no, he could only remember Harry drinking the blood. So, was the blood the reason? Had his son felt something inside of it.

Sighing, he came to the realization that he should have predicted such a violent reaction from his son and cast another shield. Blood was the most powerful liquid in their world, it held the essence of a wizard's magic and soul. To taste a soul could probably be a most joyful and pleasurable experience as well as a most disturbing, and tasting Voldemort's soul probably would be the latter. Why had he not predicted this?

It seemed to him, as if he was overseeing a lot lately, at least, when it was connected to his son. He had never believed Tom's words (and he still did not believe that love was a weakness), but love apparently cloud even influence his judgement to a great degree. 

 

Soft foot steps reached his ears and he slowly turned around to see who was entering.  
“Ah, Severus, good to see you, my boy,” he greeted, but his voice sounded weak to his own ears.  
“Indeed,” the man retorted with a sneer, examining the golden wards he was still casting around Harry.  
But Severus' short answer made him look up sharply again. The man would not have responded in such a way, if he had not good news, otherwise he would have reacted with one of his sniding remarks. “Have you found something?” His blue eyes fixed on the man who had been his savior in more than one occasion.  
Severus nodded slowly, pulled out his wand and a bowl from his robe, and without a word of explanation pointed his wand at the dried blood on Harry's covers. The blood liquified again and floated over to gather in the bowl. Finally the man took a deep intake of air, and said: “I believe I have found something, and not a minute too late...”

Severus trailed of and his black eyes watched Harry for a moment, before continuing: “The issue with the Dark Lord's presence in Harry's mind didn't leave me any peace. It is too strange, even with all the relations we have discovered today.”  
Having seen Severus Snape grow up, Albus knew the man enough to know that he had indeed found something important. Something he himself had probably overlooked with his worry over his adoptive son. 

“When the Dark Lord decided to... create an heir of his own, he must have still be able to feel, regardless in which twisted way these feelings manifested themselves. But, I suspect, that the separation from his son, the only person he had probably ever loved, had driven him to the insanity we know from him. It most likely had also increased his fear of death and it would even explain why the Dark Lord did not recognized Harry as his son these past years.”  
Albus nodded slowly, Severus had many valid points.

“Many means to increase our lifespan, are only temporary, like the drinking of unicorn blood, or the drunk of the philosophers stone. You need to consume these fairly regually to continue your immortality, a dependance the Dark Lord would never have allowed himself.”  
Severus made a short pause, before looking back onto the once more sleeping boy next to them, before continuing:  
“However, there is one way which would be convenient enough for him. I am sure you have heard of them before...”  
Albus eyes suddenly widened in realization. How had he not have thought of them? Severus was right, these dark magic would not make Tom dependent on any potion or other substance and, when something had gone out of hand at the attack on the Potter's home, it would also explain Harry's strong mental connection to his sire. “Horcruxes,” he breathed and Severus nodded. “Yes, indeed. And I am sure he created far more than one. Which also would explain, why he once wished so desperately for a son that he even agreed on a trade with demons and now holds no feelings for him. He is not able to any longer.”

With a swift movement Albus had stood up and was now pacing back and forth in front of Harry's bed, silently muttering to himself. “Seven is the most powerful number in our world, for dark, as well as for light magic. If Tom created seven Horcruxes, it is no wonder that he holds no rest of the feelings that have made him wish for a son and a family to love and cherish... One has been destroyed at the confrontation in Godrics Hollow and...” he stopped, turned to Severus and said: “And Harry has most likely destroyed another one down in the chamber of secrets. That luckily leaves five more pieces of soul, I think enough to give him the ability to love back.”

 

Severus, who still sat next to Harry's bed nodded again. “But with so less of a soul, Voldemort will not be able to reconnect with the Horcruxes. If we are lucky, he will die alongside Harry, if we are unfortunate, only Harry will die and we still have to deal with him.”  
Albus started to pace again, his mind going 100 miles a second. “What we need is a link between the piece of soul residing in Tom's body and the others. But I think only a piece which has not been separated from him for too long will be able to... a piece, which can still remember love...” He saw his Potions Master's eyes wandering over to his adoptive son. Of course, Severus had figured out the solution already, otherwise he would not have come to him.   
“I believe, Harry has this piece of soul,” Severus said.  
Albus gave a curt nod. Harry indeed hold most likely the solution to their problem, but to free a Horcrux from it's vassal, the vassal had to be destroyed. Coldness creeped around his heart, squeezing it painfully. He had sworn that he would not sacrifice his son's life for this war, but as the things stood right now, he could let Harry die in vain, or with a purpose...  
“Stop your foolish thoughts, old man,” Severus suddenly snapped, effectively pulling him from his thoughts.  
“I have not come to you, because I have found no adequate way to solve this issue. I know how much you Gryffindor heart is attached to that boy,” the man sneered, but Albus only smiled softly and a shadow of the twinkle returned to his eyes. He knew, regardless of how much Severus Snape pretended to hate Harry Potter, deep inside, the man had a warm, soft heart which could never see a child seriously be harmed. 

Severus pulled a very old, and frail looking scroll from his pocket, before explaining: “We are lucky that Potter is his son, otherwise these ritual would not work. I believe with this ritual the Horcrux would reconnect with the Dark Lord,” he hold the scroll out for Albus, who took it carefully, before unrolling it. “The ritual of the true parent?” He read out loud.  
“Yes, the ritual was invented by Salazar Slytherin. It was meant to save a dying child. As you know, illnesses and evil spirits and other magical beings often killed children, or injured their body, magic or soul so much that they often died soon after. But this ritual allows a parent to give rebirth. Harry's current body would die, whilst his soul and magic would be transformed into the Dark Lord's body to regrow. This way, his body would not suffer the effects of being without his mate-father for some time and regain it's former strength.”  
Albus nodded in understanding, before summerizing the rest of the ritual: “And when the ritual removes Tom's Horcrux, whilst harry is already inside his body, the piece of soul will most likely reconnect with him.”  
“I hope so,” Severus agreed.

 

Albus eyes wandered to the bottom of the parchment and gathered the last informations:  
Tom would carry his son for nine weeks, every week standing for an entire month of pregnancy. They only needed to hope that Voldemort would not find a way to abort his son. The ritual was supposed to have protective magic against any interference which could harm the regrowing child, hopefully Salazar had thought about evil, dark Lords when inventing these spell.  
“Sighing, he went over to his son, grabbed now cold hand and said: “I think we should do this ritual this night, harry will not life until tomorrow, I fear. I will inform Minerva, Sirius and Harry's friends. Would you provide the necessary items for the ritual?” He asked, looking over to Severus, who nodded and stood up. At the door the dark man halted for a second, and said: “I will be here at ten to midnight, so that we can start at twelve.”  
Albus watched the door close behind the man, before his gaze wandered over the nearly lifeless form of the boy he considered a son. Life had always been harsh to Harry, and now this. Harry would surely hate him as soon as he would remember everything, and he would remember his past life, the ritual would give him his memories back as soon as he had reached his current age again. But he was willing to pay this price, as long as it meant Harry would survive.

Suddenly something moved behind Harry and when he looked up, he saw two black eyes staring at him, as if knowing that he was planning to do something to her Master.  
“I will rescue him,” he said and carefully padded his son's familiar's head. He wished he could talk to her and tell her that he had no plan's of harming Harry, but he unfortunately was not able to do so. With another sigh he stood up, before calling for Dobby.  
The enthusiastic elf appeared immediately, but apparently news about Harry's state had reached him, because his ears hung and he sniffled silently as he asked: “What can Dobby do for Great Headmaster Dumbledore?”  
“Please search for Minerva, Sirius and Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger and tell them to meet me in my office as soon as possible.”  
Dobby bowed and popped out without another word.   
With a last look at his son, he left the Hospital Wing and made his way up to his office.

 

The Gargoyle let him pass wordlessly and Fawkes greeted him with a said trill upon entering, it was, as if every body would know that Harry Potter, the only hope of their World, would die this night, even the portraits along the walls looked gravely down on him. Sitting down behind his desk, Albus tried to not think that he would be the one murdering his own adoptive son. Sure, Harry would be reborn (if everything went right and he refused to believe anything else), but that still did not change the fact that his current body would die and he would be the cause of it.  
Fawkes landed in front of him and he lifted a hand to stroke his familiars soft feathers.   
He couldn't have told how long he had sat like this, patting Fawkes and deep in his thoughts about Harry and the future of their world, when it knocked at his door.  
Sitting up straighter he called “Come in,” and a moment later Hermione Granger was carefully sticking her head inside, before opening the door completely. She was followed by Ronald Weasley, who was carrying a Sirius (once again in his puppy form) and Minerva.

 

Minerva flicked her wand to conjure the set of chairs he usually provided and they all sat down. After a while, in which he had searched for a way to tell his son's best friends, his godfather and Head of House about the unsuccessful end of his meeting with Tom, Ms. Granger was the one who broke the silence.  
“How did it go?” she asked with worry in her voice.  
Shaking his head, he decided that directly would be the best way to go about it. “Not as I have hoped. Harry refuses to marry Tom, and Tom is set on binding his son to himself regardless the cost.”

Minerva draw in a sharp breath, while Sirius' face fell even more, if possible, Mr. Weasley however, only took his friend's hand and asked: “But you have a plan to save him? Haven't you?”  
He nodded slowly, before admitting: “I indeed have a plan, Severus helped me quite a lot with it, however, neither of you will like it.”  
“Is it... dark magic?” Minerva asked silently and the eyes of everybody seemed to sharpen as they all stared expectantly at him.   
“It is a rebirth-ritual,” he said in way of answering. Every small child knew that rebirth was always ever possible with the aid of the Dark Arts, because it always needed a living sacrifice; in this case, it would be Harry's body.

“Albus! You can not honestly consider this!” Minerva gasped, but Sirius quickly interrupted her, a determined gleam had entered his eyes. “Do you wish for Harry to be bound to the Dark Lord like a mindless puppet?” The animagus sneered and his deputy headmistress recoiled. Sirius, obviously satisfied with the reaction, turned back to him. “What will be the sacrifice?”  
“His current body. The ritual we will use is called The Ritual of the true Parent.”  
Sirius gasped.  
“You have heard about it before?” Albus asked curiously, but than again, the black library was very small in comparison to the Malfoy library, but much more specified.  
“I have. And I know how Harry will be reborn. Are sure about this, Albus? I mean, as soon as you preform the ritual, we can only sit back and hope.”

 

This was the point that still concerned Albus the most. Even if Tom would not be able to abort Harry, it still didn't mean that he would be a good carrier. Things like dark Magic, Alcohol and the wrong diet could all harm the boy and cost him a strong and healthy body. Still, he nodded. They would need to trust in Tom's wish to give birth to a powerful son, one he would probably want to use for his own goals and in Harry's resilience to fight whatever his father would force on him. “It is the best chance we have. One way or the other, Harry will die this night. We can only decide if we try to give him a second chance at life or not.”

“Albus, I do not quite understand...” Minerva said and his son's friends nodded in agreement.  
“Harry will be reborn by his biological father,” he explained and watched Ronald Weasley's hand tightened around Ms. Granger's.   
“Why?” the intelligent which asked, but her voice betrayed her frightened state.  
“Voldemort is currently not able to love his son and save him, he is, however, not planning to simply let Harry die either. If we do nothing, he will bind Harry to himself with a dark bond, this night, and we all know what this would mean.”  
Ms. Granger paled and tightened her own grip on Mr. Weasley's hand. 

 

Giving the gathered group a stern gaze, he continued: “What I will now tell you all, has to stay in this office. Under no circumstances is one of you allowed to speak to a second party about this,” Albus gave the four in front of him a stern look and waved his wand to reinforce his wards, before continuing after they had all nodded. “To gain immortality, Voldemort has destroyed his soul to a point where he can not feel any emotion anymore. Whatever had driven him to create a son, he can not understand his reasoning anymore. However, Harry holds the key to heal his soul, it is in fact a small piece of Voldemort's original soul. Severus and I hope, by putting him into Voldemort's body that the soul-piece will reconnect with and give him the ability to also accept all the other pieces he has separated from himself, back. This way, Harry will live and our world will get another chance on peace.”  
For a short moment silence was the only thing heard, until Hermione asked: “But doesn't that mean, that... someone has to give V... Voldemort his soul-pieces back? I mean, he will surely not do that voluntarily..:”

“You are right, Ms. Granger;” Albus nodded. “But this is a matter for the future. First I will have to preform this ritual, than Harry will have to be born in nine weeks and grow into his current age.”  
“Does that mean we have to wait fourteen years to get our best friend back?” Ronald Weasley asked.  
“Most likely that will not be the case,” Minerva calmed him down. “The pregnancy will be shortened, I think Harry will age in the same speed, which would mean 14 weeks for 14 years.”  
“Oh...” Mr. Weasley said, before saying: “I really don't like the idea, but I want to loos my best mate even less.”  
Sirius sighed and than nodded in agreement. “I do not care about the other wizards and witches anymore, but Harry has deserved better,” the man said.  
“What are we going to tell the students?” Minerva asked with a shaky voice and Albus knew, that it was her way of agreeing to the plan.  
“We already planned on telling them that Harry has come into an magical inheritance. In rare cases an inheritance can need weeks to fully unfold. We will however not give them any more hints, but let them come up with their own truth about what Harry has become.”  
Minerva nodded and so did Ms. Granger.

 

“Can we be there, when you do the ritual?” Mr. Weasley suddenly asked, interrupting whatever Minerva had wanted to say.  
Nodding as well, Albus told everybody. “Severus and I will meat at ten to twelve in the hospital wing. Midnight is the most powerful hour for wizards, we will do the ritual than.”

…

 

When Albus entered the Hospital Wing a few hours later, Severus, Sirius, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger were all already there and waiting. For once Sirius and Severus were only exchanging loathing glares, but not insulting each other, whilst the others only stared sadly down at Harry. He had sat in the same position most of the day and watched how his son's breathing got shallower with every second, until Poppy had once again put him under the Sleep of Living Death once again to guaranty his survival until midnight.   
He had also made the announcement to the student body and gusts, and the reaction (as expected) had not been a good one. Wizarding flue could end deathly and somehow the Daily Prophet had managed to deliver a special edition about his son's illness, with the result that now the whole of wizarding Britain lived in fear about the future. It all only made it even clearer, how dependent they all were of Harry. He would set these worries to rest tomorrow, but not today anymore. Today, he would only concentrate on saving his ward.  
The rest of the day had past with the studying of the long incantation he would need to recite later.

 

“Than let us begin,” he said and settled next to his son. Poppy had already put the antidote for the Draught of Living Death on the bedside, but instead of picking it up he pulled out his wand and vanished the blanket and Harry's pyjamas.  
“Please step back,” he ordered softly and even Zaida slithered away, as if knowing that something important was about to happen. Sirius pressed the plush-lion he had given Harry earlier to his chest, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on the small and very haggard figure in front of him. 

Severus handed him a slim, silver dagger and the bowl with Voldemort's blood. Of course, they could do this ritual with a strand of Tom's hair as well, but blood was the most powerful substance in their world and they wanted to give Harry as much help as he could get for this journey. He dipped the dagger into the blood, while Severus gave the boy the antidote and massaged the slim throat until the potion had been swallowed.  
For a moment Albus thought, that the potion had not worked, because Harry still didn't seem to breath, but than he realized with horror that it had worked, his son only had major breathing failures. 

“Quick,” he said and his silent words echoed loudly in the deathly silent hospital room. Severus quickly flicked his wand again and seven black candles flickered to life, before floating around Harry's hospital bed. Without hesitating another moment, Albus started the latin incantation, lifted the blood soaked dagger and brought it down onto his son, piercing his navel, where Harry would now hopefully connect with Tom Marvolo Riddle.  
Magic exploded around the dagger and he had to use all his strength to keep the dagger from being pushed out again, it needed to stay inside Harry until his body had died and the incantation was finished. He didn't look up once and instead continued to watch his son's chest raise and fall. For a moment Harry's breathing was once again normal as dark magic continued to swirl around them like a tornado. Than his breathing slowed down, first as if he was merely falling asleep, but than suddenly his chest rose higher than all the other times before, before his ribcage collapsed and his last heartbeat vibrated through the room like the beat of an gigantic drum. Severus had simultaneously dismantled the protective shields around the bad, and the pulse of magic spread through the room like a dark shockwave. 

 

He finally let go of the dagger as if burned and stumbled backwards. Fortunately Minerva hurried to his side, or he would have stumbled in his current state. He had killed Harry, he had killed his only son, the boy he had sworn to protect with his life.   
“Is he...?” Sirius silent voice floated over, but he couldn't answer.   
“Albus, pull yourself together,” Severus voice sneered close to his ear, pulling him back to the reality and to what needed to be done. Blinking a few times, he cleared his throat and looked back to the now empty body of his son, hopefully the ritual had worked. 

“We should burry him now,” he said and motioned to Sirius to pick his godson's body up.  
“Where... shall we burry him?” Minerva asked, her eyes following Sirius.  
Albus only could shake his head, he was not able to make any more decisions today. He had lived through many wars, had seen many things, but not once had he felt so helpless and empty.  
“Maybe at the foot of the whomping willow?” Sirius suggested. “We can not give him a proper funeral, but his body would be protected there from any wild animals.”  
Nodding in agreement, he waved his wand and conjured Harry's invisibility cloak from his adoptive son's trunk. “Wrap this around him,” he said to Sirius and handed him the cloak. The animagus looked for a moment at the dead body, before quickly covering Harry with the cloak and picking him up.

Albus unlocked the hospital wing and then started to lead them through the empty corridors with long, swift strides. The only light was the pale light of the full moon, because all torches had expired as if even Hogwarts was mourning the death of one Harry James Potter. Hopefully, they would soon see him again. And hopefully, Harry would still be Harry by that time, but it was out of their power now.   
The front doors opened silently in front of them. In the distance Albus could see the shade of the whomping willow growing taller with every step. It's branches rustled threateningly as they got closer, but Severus shot a well aimed spell at it and the tree froze.

 

They all staid back when Sirius determinedly walked up to the entrance and made a hole in the earth directly next to it. They watched silently as the man pulled the invisibility cloak from the lifeless form of Harry and placed him carefully into the grave.  
A muffled sob escaped Ms Grangers mouth and she buried her face into Ronald's robes, who was crying silently as well. 

Having the feeling that they all needed some gesture of goodbye, Albus waved his wand silently and a white rose appeared in everyone's hand.   
Sirius looked startled for a moment, before straightening himself and said: “I am sure we will see us soon again, Harry. You are strong, you always have been and you always will. And when you come back, I will wait for you and we will face all this unfair shit together, I promise, prongslet.” He threw the white rose into the grave and Minerva stepped up. 

Her voice was silent, but steady as she said: “ “Harry, I know, regardless if it is Godric Gryffindor himself, or... or Lord Voldemort,” her voice wavered slightly at the name, but she continued on like the brave lioness she was. “...you will always be Harry and always be a Gryffindor, never doubt that!” She dropped the rose into the grave as well and went back to the group with a straight back and a steely gaze.

Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger went up to the grave together, holding each others hands.  
“I know...” Ms Granger started and her voice was tear filled “...this is no goodbye for forever. Sure, with Voldemort, we never can know for sure, but I can not believe otherwise, or it would break my heart. So I will wait, together with Ron, and I will make notes in all your classes... and... and when you are back, I will help you catch on again, I will not leave you alone, never!” Ms. Granger stepped nearer and her breath hitched slightly as she once more looked down on the dead body of her best friend. Ron followed her, laying an arm around her shoulders, before simply saying: “Se you soon, mate. And don't even think about dying for real, or coming back all evil!” 

The two went back together and Albus eyes fixed on Severus, who was glaring down at the rose but than went to the grave as well. “I am sure you will grand me the pleasure of teaching in peace for long. In fact, I am sure I will see you even before your... friends do,” he sneered, but his sneer was very weak and ended with a long sigh, before he as well, threw the rose into the grave.   
Sirius lifted his wand and placed the pile of soil over Harry, blanketing his godson's first body for all eternity. “Can we not give him something? Something that reminds us and him of his first life?” The animagus asked, turning to face him.  
Nodding slowly, Albus waved his wand once more, he himself wished for a sign that Harry had sacrificed himself for all their faits, because regardless if Harry had agreed to this, or would hate the way his second chance would play out in the beginning, he still would be thankful to be given these second chance and do it again when the need would arise. 

His magic hit the trunk of the whomping willow and golden letters formed the words:  
“Here lies Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter, Godson of Sirius Black and ward of Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore. July 31st 1980 – November 3rd 1994”

Beneath these lines stood the word “Rebirth,” but the pace behind it was still empty. Still, it gave all present a sense of new hope. They stood there for a moment longer, watching the grave and the golden plaque, but as they finally went back to Hogwarts, their hearts were not as heavy as they had been before.

 

…

 

Voldemort flung the door to his ritual chamber open with such force that it crashed into the wall, leaving deep holes in the old stones. He had needed longer than expected to find the scroll with the right ritual, it had been decades since he had last studied it, but he would not settle on any other ritual. 

The bond of the serf would shift his the cores of his son's life force and magic into his own body, giving him the complete power over not only the boy's power, but also over his death. It also would grant him the ability to draw on those powers, if he ever should be in a life threatening situation.  
With a flick of his wand he sealed the doors behind him and with two long strides stood in front of the ritual table, before pulling a single, black stand of hair and his ritual dagger from his pocket. Somewhere in his manor a clock started to count down the last seconds until midnight, it was time to begin.

With a fluid motion he cut his right thumb, whilst starting to recite the dark spell and letting blood drop onto the hair. When he reached the final word, he thrust the dagger down, piercing the hair. Magic exploded all around him and spread like waves, searching for the one they should bind.   
A low chuckle rose in his throat as he felt the powerful magic. Not even the old fool would be able to counter this. But his malicious joy changed suddenly into rage as he felt his magic pushed away by a second wave of power. The power hit him and a violent pulse made him gasp and clutch his sides. The other magic spread inside of him like molten lava and as it reached his heart, the organ stumbled once before settling back into his steady rhythm, feeling suddenly much heavier than before. 

Still gasping, Voldemort leaned against the ritual table, cursing Dumbledore as the molten lava changed into a pleasant warmth and the strong pulse altered to a soft fluttering.   
What had the cursed headmaster done?   
Reaching out with his magic, he tried to assert what the old fool had cursed him with, but froze in shock as he suddenly recognized the patter in which the magic was pulsing inside of him; his prodigy. But this could not be possible, he had not targeted the child, but Harry Potter and even though the pattern felt familiar, the sickly pleasant warmth reminded him more of his cursed son. It only took him a second to comprehend what had been done to him.

“You have just signed your own death, old man,” he hissed, before storming out of the ritual chamber. He would find a way to dissolve the Ritual of the True Parent.

 

Epilogue: 

 

The Hospital wing lay silent in the silver moonlight. Nothing was there, which would hint to the events which had happened hear only minutes earlier, until something moved out of the shadows and stepped into the middle of the now empty room.

“We need to protect our Master,” the shadow said, while his brothers and sisters stepped slowly out of him.   
“He can not die, neither can he be used, we have to make sure of it.”  
“But how?” another shadow asked him.  
“We have to give him an advantage, he will be reborn as a demon, but he can not look like it,” he answered the other.   
A collective nod went through the group, before they fluidly floated over to the nearest walls and disappeared from Hogwarts, leaving to search for their one and only Master.

 

libris (latin)= the children

 

AN: So, this was part 1 of the Devilish series. I hope you all liked it and will support me for the sequel. The sequel will be called Devilish Rebirth :-)

LPB


End file.
